


Learn To Loot, Smash Skulls, And Scream The Right Way

by Ogygia



Series: The Clickbaitverse [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Click Now To Upgrade To The ECHO-3!, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The "Get Along" Shirt of Fanfiction, Trans Troy Calypso, Troy Calypso POV, Tyreen Calypso POV, We DO speak of Sanctuary II, canon non-compliant, for the later chapters, my canon now, unnecessary tagging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-12-22 14:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21078290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ogygia/pseuds/Ogygia
Summary: Tyreen and Troy have been driving this bucket of bolts in the height of Pandoran summer and, understandably, have attempted to murder each other no less than twenty-two times in the last couple of days alone.In which the Calypso Twins become totally cool Vault Hunters and nothing bad ever happens except on Fridays.





	1. Study Finds Expressing Anger In Unhealthy Ways Incredibly Satisfying

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, this is my first attempt at posting fic in this fandom but also the first attempt in a long time to even write fic in general, so please enjoy. Or something; I don't know your life. Also, yes, the titles are from like, Clickhole.
> 
> FYI: This fic will likely not contain very many OCs, outside of enemies and the occasional ally. If that's a pet peeve, rejoice!

Pandora wasn’t _always_ a shithole. As far as borderworlds went, it was one of the nicer dirtballs way back in the day, even if it was just a glorified refueling station for hopping from this galaxy into the next. When they first landed, Tyreen and her brother used to hack into the ECHOnet at night and listen to all these data logs that were more than twice their age, a busted-ass datapad tucked between their heads like a pillow and whispering geological reports into their ears. There used to be seas that spread over nearly half the planet and lush jungles that covered the rest, all kinds of amazing things Tyreen had only heard of in Dad’s stories but never seen, and probably never will now, because a bunch of corporate mega-assholes blew the surface of the planet off long before her and Troy were even a gleam in their mother’s eye.

They never found what they were looking for either, those corporations, not really. They didn’t know what Pandora was actually for: a place at the edge of the universe for hiding; yourself, your prized possessions, your darkest truths, _something_ had to be given before anything could be taken. Tyreen, Troy, and their mother gave Pandora all three when they fled the Eridian homeworld, trading one desolate alien planet for another. 

In return, they’ve been scraping out its secrets ever since.

“Second time we passed that big-ass rock, Ty,” yells Troys, annoyed like he’s _chiding_ her over the roar of the truck’s engine. “You sure you know where you’re going?” 

“Do I know—_shut up_,” Tyreen fumes. 

Through sheer power of will, she doesn’t immediately, furiously flip the technical into a ditch; she isn’t above giving her brother the finger _ever_, though, and waves her hand in his stupid face as they hurtle across the shitty excuse for a highway running through Splitrock Gorge, the miles-wide, laser-scarred, man-made canyon swallowing the horizon in every direction. They’ve been driving this bucket of bolts in the height of summer and, understandably, have attempted to murder each other no less than twenty-two times in the last couple of days alone. Mom can’t make it out into the field anymore, the dry season is way too hard on her these days, so it’s up to Tyreen and Troy to recover whatever Eridian artifacts they can for her research.

“You think I let us schlep all the way out here,” Tyreen continues, “and forgot to download one rinky-dink map from the ECHOnet?” 

Projecting from the ECHO-3 haphazardly strapped to the dash, the half-rendered 3D map flickers the moment they pass an entirely new big-ass rock, a large red triangle containing an exclamation point popping up over the entire screen.

_ERROR_, the text flashes below the symbol. _MISSING DATA. PLEASE CONNECT TO ECHONET TO RESUME DOWNLOAD. OR DON’T. IT’S YOUR FUNERAL, SOLDIER._

Tyreen slaps at the device, leaving a noticeable dent in its cover. “Ugh, fuckin’ Dahl, I swear! I just want one piece of tech out here that isn’t trying to neg me.”

“Holy shit! You _did_ forget!” Troy shields the ECHO-3 with his robot hand, brows furrowed above the goggles strapped to his grimy face. “Mom is gonna be so disappointed if we come back empty-handed, and you know I’m sensitive about being a disappointment! I spent like, two hours yesterday patching us into the network for this, Ty!”

For a split second, Tyreen throws both her hands in the air with an exasperated groan, and the truck jolts left, flying through a patch of cacti and spraying the windshield with a faintly glowing yellow sap that can’t be healthy. “It’s a giant satellite in the desert, mano, how hard could it be?”

“How hard is it for _you_ to just... listen to me!” Troy lunges for the steering wheel, yanking them back onto the road and too far in the other direction now. Tyreen’s teeth rattle in her skull as they off-road over what feels like huge boulders or maybe a pack of barfing skags, everything a blur of alien yellow and sky-blue and shimmering heat. 

“Stop!” She pulls her foot from the gas and slams it down on the brakes, only for the pedal to hit the floor and snap clean off. The technical doesn’t slow down in the slightest, the engine chugging as if the damn thing is cackling at them. “Shit! Seriously, Troy, let go! You’re going to drive us right into that—”

“Into _what_?” Troy’s head snaps up just in time for them to crash into the biggest skeleton Tyreen has ever seen in her admittedly pretty short life, and then the world whites out.

*

When Mom was a kid, New-U Stations hadn’t been mass marketed yet. Back then, most people that died were pretty much deader than Edenian disco. Like, forever. But nowadays, if you had even a modest amount of cash, or if you knew the right people, you could get your DNA scanned at your friendly local New-U terminal and have a fresh body reconstructed over and over until the heat death of the universe. Or until the money stopped coming, whichever comes first. Mom, like every other fleeceable schmuck in the six galaxies, dutifully paid the fees to store Troy and Tyreen’s DNA in the Hyperion Cloud until they were old enough to do it themselves. 

Tyreen had always heard it hurt like a bitch to be reconstructed, but the pain coursing through her is incomparable to anything else, and she once stuck her foot in skag bile just for _fun_. If she had to guess now, her new body is currently clocking in at about a doused-in-oil-and-lit-up-like-Mercenary-Day level of agony.

She opens her eyes slowly, coming face to face with her brother, who is weirdly enough gingerly cradling her head in his lap instead of letting her have the dignity of being dumped ass-first onto the floor by the nearest terminal. “Are you crying?” she rasps, and, _of course_, her throat is absolutely thrashed, too. “This New-U stuff sucks, man.”

Troy wipes away the suspicious moisture. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean… shit, you got us killed back there. Or just me, judging by the open weeping.” Her eyes fall shut again, the sun leaving pinpricks of white behind her eyelids, but the pain doesn’t let up at all. “Hey, did you remember to pay for my Cloud last month because I think my skin cells are, uh, currently mutating? Must be a corrupted save or something.”

“You didn’t die, dumbass, and I’m not crying.” With a little sniff, he pulls his goggles on. “The truck blew up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, my arm’s kind of screwed up,” he lifts his prosthetic arm, where the metal looks chalky black, all its usual decals and paint burnt right off. “And, um, so is yours. Looks like your shield chewed up most of the damage but it’s… not pretty.”

Tyreen glances at her right arm, covered in deep, bloody patches. Well, fuck. That’s _so_ nasty, but it also makes her look kind of badass in a morbidly cool way. She gives her fingers an experimental flex and immediately starts screaming like a pack of dive-bombing rakks.

“_FUCK!_ Okay, mmm, not doing that again.” Troy gives her a sympathetic robo-pat on the head, dusting her in ash. “Why’d you let me do that?”

He just smiles wryly, and it’s still the mirror image of her own, even after all the surgeries and hormones. “Implying I can stop you from doing anything?”

A ragged laugh escapes Tyreen’s mouth, making her wince for her trouble. “But you _have_ to, you’re like, seventy-five percent of my impulse control. Help me up?”

And he does, keeping his metal arm wrapped around her for support as they start to hobble away together from the smoking pile of wreckage. Luckily, the days on Pandora are super long, so there’s still enough decent light to travel by. _Unluckily_, the days on Pandora are super long, so there’s still enough decent light to be shot at by roving bandits _and_ you’ll be sweating your balls off the entire time.

“Okay, mano, what’s the plan?” asks Tyreen through gritted teeth. Troy has one, she knows he does because he _always_ has a plan, and talking will take her mind off the pain for a little while.

“Pretty straightforward. Find a Catch-A-Ride, then a med machine.” Troy peers down at her a little guiltily. “I’d patch you up sooner if I could, but it’s not safe to be caught on foot out here.”

“You know, I’m super banged up right now but I could make short work of a bandit.” Her stomach rumbles loud enough for the both of them to hear. “Or two. And I bet you’re probably feeling kinda woozy after that shitshow.”

“I _am_,” Troy admits, somewhat reluctantly. “That’s why I’d prefer holding off on the whole—” He opens his gloved hand and makes a wet, whooshing sound. “—Siren thing. If anything happened… I’m not much use in a fight, even on a good day, and this is far from a good day.”

Fair point. Everyone and their granny is armed to the teeth on Pandora, but Troy’s aim could still use a little work. Okay, a _lot_ of work, but she won’t tell him that now. Them’s fighting words, and one fight already landed them into this mess.

They continue to pick their way through the rocky landscape, sticking to the long shadows cast by the boulders and cliffs running alongside the broken roads. The ECHO-3 isn’t exactly helpful for telling them _where_ they’re going, their incomplete map lighting up blue as they chart this part of the desert on foot, but the scanner still works as intended, the screen occasionally dotted with red thermal signatures that they’re careful to avoid. 

Tyreen can’t decide what’s worse: the heat frying them in their own sweat, or the stench that rises up from the stagnant, oil-iridescent pools formed around burst pipelines and derelict factory runoff. It’s all some kind of unholy combination of dirty ass, to be honest, but if the ass was huge, like the size of Pandora itself. Either way, there’s no prize for winning that contest; she’s the one that has to hold her nose.

Up ahead she spots a cluster of small metal buildings, but the one of most interest is what appears to be some sort of abandoned garage, slashed and greying tires stacked up high against the corrugated steel panels. There’s a black beam above that where she realizes a Catch-A-Ride logo would normally be projected from, but it seems to be depowered.

“Just our luck,” groans Tyreen, pointing it out to Troy. “Who knows when we’ll run into another Catcha. Maybe there’s some vehicles still laying around?”

“Hold on a minute. There might be a current still running out here, I just need a look at the fusebox first.”

They circle around the back, avoiding the windows and door frames even though they’re mostly boarded up now and covered in graffiti of various skill levels. _RUSTRAZORS_, a very nasty bandit clan out this way, crops up in more than a few places, which makes Tyreen just this side of uneasy. The fusebox, fixed to a pole behind the buildings, looks as if someone shot at it for target practice, but the metal has held up pretty well from the abuse anyway. Troy cracks it open and begins to inspect it.

“Ummm, is this going to take long?” Tyreen whispers in a tiny voice from his side.

Troy scrunches up his face and lets out a sigh so long his lungs are probably in danger of collapsing. “Ty, I love you, but I literally just opened the damn thing.” He fishes some tools out of his backpack unit. “Do me a favor and keep watch, okay?”

“Fine! Okay!” She backs off with her hands held up in the universal gesture for _don’t bite my head off, jeez_. “Keeping watch… now. Happy?”

“Ignoring you,” Troy announces cheerfully.

Pulling a pistol from her own backpack, she slowly limps a path along the perimeter, occasionally nudging open sun-bleached boxes with her boot just in case anyone was stupid enough to leave their stash of Insta-Health vials jammed in there. Wouldn’t be the most useful thing she ever found in an abandoned cache. See, bandits didn’t exactly have a decent set of priorities on what was worth keeping; you’d be just as likely to find a stack of credits or a box of ammo in a trash heap than, you know, _actual_ trash.

After making a second pass around the buildings, silently waving at Troy until he looks up from the fusebox and impatiently waves back, she figures the next best thing is to check the buildings themselves. If anyone had made their camp in the garage, they would have probably seen or heard either Troy or Tyreen on the property by now, right? 

Right.

A single door on the eastern side of the building is left unboarded, which does strike Tyreen as a little odd. Maybe someone was in a hurry to get the hell out of the expanding Rustrazor territory. Or maybe the new, bloodthirsty occupant isn’t home right now, which means she’s got to work fast. She makes a cursory check for traps, _just in case_, and then kicks the door open, easily rocking it on its rusty hinges. Fresh pain washes over the right side of her body, but she swallows down the gasp and sticks her head beyond the threshold.

It’s… clean inside. Weirdly clean. If not for the two stripped truck frames resting in the middle of the room, she’d never guess it was supposed to be some rundown garage. Boxes and crates are stacked neatly against one wall, and the workbenches are well-used, stained with grease, but clear of the usual crap littering every surface in Pandora, their respective tools on the pegboard above. In the far corner there’s an old mattress on the floor, the only sign of life, but obviously it’s empty.

“_Really_ weird,” Tyreen murmurs to herself, and then starts to loot anything not nailed down or locked tight. Does she need a fork and a spoon that have been welded together? No. A box of stale Splodeo’s? Also no. Technically, she doesn’t even _need_ to eat real food anymore, on account of her jacked up Siren powers, but free shit is free shit, and into her inventory it goes.

“What are you doing?” says a deep, gravelly voice from behind her.

She whirls around, finger already on the trigger of her gun, and levels it at the absolutely huge, masked bandit standing in the doorway. She always thought Troy was freakishly tall, but this guy is even taller _and_ almost three times as wide as her brother is.

Blood drips from his stained hands.

_Troy._

“What did you do to my brother?” she snarls.

“I don’t know—”

Tyreen doesn’t wait for him to finish that sentence. She pulls the trigger, and the bullet pings off the bandit’s shield, a flash of white hexagons lighting up the room for just a split second, before it falls to the floor uselessly.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me. Do you know who I am?” She takes a menacing step forward, all five and a half feet of her, remembering the silly scripts Troy used to write for her whenever they needed to trade with bandit camps for goods or the occasional piece of bonafide Eridian junk the idiots had managed to stumble upon. He called this character the God-Queen, prodigal ruler of Pandora, come to bring hope back to a ruined planet, yadda yadda yadda. It worked… maybe fifty percent of the time. Not everybody loved a freaky chick with reality-bending magic.

It’s impossible to gauge the man’s reaction behind the strange mask, different from the usual bandit standards, more skull-like, but she swears she can see his head sweep back and forth as the thought occurs to him. “You… you’re a Siren.”

“Not just any Siren.” The markings beneath Tyreen’s ragged sleeve burst with an unnatural blue light. “I’m your God-Queen. Now kneel and fucking repent, jackass.”

To her complete and utter surprise, he goes down on one knee so fast it looks like someone just locally increased the gravity directly under him.

“Yes, God-Queen, I have been... unrighteous,” he says quietly.

For a split-second, something seems to slot into place. A future, another life, where the God-Queen is real, and Tyreen Calypso is pretend. Just a second, and then it passes, and she doesn’t feel that powerful at all; she’s completely alone now, and though she’s totally going to ice this dude for his crimes, it doesn’t change that fact.

“Well, now I just feel weird about shooting a guy on his knees,” Tyreen tells him, tiredly scratching her cheek with the end of her pistol. She limps closer, sticking the gun under his chin instead. “Get back up. _Slowly_.”

“Hey, Ty, what the hell was that noise? You shootin’ guns in there—” Troy comes skidding to a stop right outside this scene. “Um. Am I interrupting… I don’t know what’s happening, actually?”

“Troy!” Tyreen’s whole face lights up with relief and, yes, even joy at the sight of her brother completely unscathed. “Holy shit, I thought you were dead and who knows where the hell you'd end up digistructed. Come in here, my heart’s still freakin’ racing. Uh, well,” she stares up at the bandit now towering over her. “Guess you’re off the hook, big guy. No hard feelings.”

He nods. “If the God-Queen wills it.”

“God-Queen? What?” Troy shoots her a wide-eyed, pleased look. “You remembered the script!”

Tyreen just laughs in disbelief. “I know, this weirdo totally… um, is standing right there and respects my authority! Don’t you?”

The bandit nods. “I’ve been waiting for you to call upon me.”

“Riiight.”

“Okay then, well,” Troy scratches the back of his head, around his spinal port, obviously still a little confused about the situation. “Now I get to tell you both, I guess, but the Catch-A-Ride is up and running. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Tyreen looks at the bandit. “Me and my second in command—” Troy grins and flashes her an excited thumbs up with his robot arm, and she never thought she’d be glad to see him look that annoying again. “—could use some protection. Only my most loyal followers are allowed to accompany me. You ready to prove yourself?”

“I will do whatever is required of me, God-Queen.”

A crooked grin spreads across Tyreen’s face. “You know, Troy, I think I could get used to this.”


	2. Man Always Carries Gun In Case He Needs To Escalate Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea what my posting schedule will look like yet, so just enjoy the soothing sound of me wildly slapping keys.

As it turns out, allying yourself with the biggest, meanest-looking guy you can find on Pandora _rules_. See, Tyreen’s new bandit bud used to roll with the Rustrazors back when they first took over Splitrock Gorge, and besides the whole unwavering devotion to a fake god Troy made up (incidentally the reason the Rustrazors kicked him out and tried to murderize his ass), his sanity is more or less intact for a dude wandering the desert alone. Meaning: He still knows where _all_ the juicy Rustrazor caches and abandoned hideouts are, and he’s more than happy to share. 

Score one for the God-Queen. 

“Sooo, what do we call you anyway, big guy?” Tyreen asks the bandit, standing in the bed of their brand spanking new technical and holding onto the frame tight while the big man himself takes his turn driving for the night. They scrounged up a dusty bottle of Dr. Zed’s Bullet Salve a couple stops ago, and she’s feeling considerably more whole. “You got a name, dontcha?”

Elpis hovers behind them like a huge unsleeping eye, lighting the path ahead in pale shades of blue. It’s quiet out tonight—counterintuitively, Pandoran nights usually are, but for a very deceptive reason: the planet’s deadliest inhabitants just work better under the cover of dark skies and cool air. Which means the three of them, tearing through the roads in a big-ass truck, could probably stand to be a little less concerned about Rustrazors seeking vengeance and more worried about the hungry everything-else-on-the-planet, you know?

“Whoever I used to be no longer matters,” says the bandit, never once looking up from the road. His posture is _impeccable_. “I am reborn under the God-Queen’s banner.”

Tyreen sighs and rests her forehead on a cold, dewy beam. “Not quite what I was looking for, but we’ll work on it, Oh Nameless One.”

“Hey!” Troy pops up from the passenger seat, twisting on his knees to face her. “Can we call him Watchdog?”

Tyreen blinks. “What? No.”

“Oh, oh, I got it! Big Dawg.” He grins _just_ like an excited little skag pup. “You know, with an ‘a’ and a ‘w’?”

“This isn’t up for debate, mano. Get your own followers.”

Troy scowls. “I thought we were sharing. You remember sharing, right? Or do you want me to add that to your ECHOtionary?”

Amazing how all the goodwill he managed to build up over the last twenty-four hours just evaporates like nothing. Scoffing, Tyreen reaches over with her good arm and gently punches Troy in his, the red markings there flaring warmly under her touch. Predictably, even a light tap sends him yowling and wriggling around like someone shot him in the foot with an incendiary round. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she tells him. “I totally called dibs. Also, we’re not calling him ‘dog’ _or_ ‘dawg’, or whatever. Sure, he’s a bandit, but they deserve like, dignity… and, you know…” She glances over at said bandit in question, one of his bare pecs—easily the size of her head, _her entire head!_—glistening in the moonlight. “T-shirts and stuff.”

“Fine, okay.” Troy heaves a long sigh as he slouches down, still rubbing his arm, which, again, she _barely_ touched. “Just call him Turd-Lord or whatever. I mean, clearly he doesn’t care.”

“Don’t make me come up there, Troy, I mean it.”

“Any name the God-Queen bestows upon me is a blessing,” says the bandit evenly, as if it doesn’t disturb him in the slightest to have people talking about him like he’s not even there.

It’s things like that that put Tyreen at a real crossroads, because on the one hand it just tickles her pink to have someone around here that actually listens to her. On the other, though? She’s not _really_ some supreme deity. She’s a flesh and blood, twenty-four year old dumbass just trying to survive on this dirtball, same as everyone else.

But she’s not ready to give up the act, not yet.

“You know what! You got a way with words, big guy.” Tyreen puts her hand on top of his head, giving it a brief little pat where shaven scalp meets mask. Anything longer and she might accidentally drain him if she’s not careful. “You can be my, uh, mouthpiece. My _Holy_ Mouthpiece. Don’t you just love it?”

Troy gawks, no longer pretending to be in pain. “Seriously? How is that better than _anything_ I said, Ty?”

Not deterred in the least, Mouthpiece nods to himself, turning the technical into a smooth right turn around black cliffs. “Mouthpiece,” he repeats quietly. “I do love it, my God-Queen,” and that’s that on that.

*

In the morning, Troy patches them into the ECHOnet via an abandoned Dahl satellite, a parabolic reflector made out of a beaten pan lid, and a bit of elbow grease. Tyreen takes the time to kick her feet up and fire off some messages to their mother, keeping her abreast of the latest developments but careful to not mention anything about Mouthpiece—where to even begin, right?—while Troy tries to triangulate the location of nearby Eridian ruins with data from Mouthpiece’s broke-ass ECHO-2.

“You know these things are crazy dangerous, right?” he tells Mouthpiece softly, fiddling with the controls as if they might bite him at any second. “I heard they rebranded them as a grenade mod because they kept exploding on something like, eighty-five percent of consumers. The corps are such cheap-asses.”

Mouthpiece nods as if he understands, and then replies, simply, “The only fire I fear is the God-Queen’s retribution.”

Troy sighs. “‘Course you do, buddy.”

“Hey, shitlips, Mom says…” Clicking her tongue, Tyreen scrolls back up through the log. “She loves you and to make sure you reboot your cybernetics when you go to bed tonight.”

Troy’s eyes flit between Tyreen and Mouthpiece hurriedly, his face turning so red they’re going to need to rename the color in his honor. “Look, there’s nothing weird about loving your mom, okay?” His voice is getting higher and higher as he stares back down at the beeping ECHO in his hand. “Maybe I even _like_ when she nags me about my— ugh, it’s not a crime to have a caring mother. There. We done here?”

Tyreen cackles. “I mean, I think you had that one, all by yourself. Don’t mind me.”

“Ugh!” He lets out a long groan. “Just tell her… Tell her to not smother me or something, okay? I’m a grown-ass man.”

“I had a mother once,” Mouthpiece says slowly, arms folded over his massive chest. “She got eaten by threshers.”

“Oh, bummer,” Troy and Tyreen awkwardly say in unison. She snorts and flips him off, but Troy has other ideas.

“Jinx!” He crows, snatching his supplies off the ground, stuffing them into his storage deck with a flash, and then making a beeline toward their vehicle. “Now _I_ get to drive, baby!”

“What the hell? You can’t just call jinx over the technical, we’re not twelve years old, jackass!” Nonetheless, Tyreen jumps to her feet and races after him anyway. Not her finest moment, but she’s not going to let him go completely unchallenged.

“That’s exactly what someone that just lost at jinx would say,” Troy points out, grinning wildly as he clambers gracelessly into the front seat through the window.

“Ugh, it doesn’t even matter. Come on, Mouthpiece, you’re with me.” Tyreen waves the bandit over and lets him boost her into the back of the truck. “Remind me where we’re going again, Troy?”

“Oh, so, piecing together Mouthpiece’s maps of the gorge, the data Mom put us on, and some old Dahl schematics I downloaded earlier… I think I just figured out where the Eridian site might be out here.” He snaps his goggles on and revs the technical’s engine. “Only one way to find out, right?” 

Tyreen nods. “Only one way.”

*

Troy’s new and improved map leads them farther north than they’ve ever been, and for good reason: It’s smack dab in the middle of what is now deep Rustrazor territory. They’ve had a few brushes with the clan on the roads out here, but nothing Tyreen and Mouthpiece can’t handle together while Troy floors it past their choke points. 

Eventually the waypoint leads them off the road itself, over huge tracks scored into the ground from heavy machinery that have probably been there longer than Tyreen’s been alive. Framed by crude, broken statues of Eridians with their heads bowed, the tracks only delve deeper and deeper from there, cutting into the solid rock below Pandora’s barren soil until it opens into the remains of a craggy cavern chamber, the ceiling mostly gone.

The problem is someone already beat them to it.

A lot of someones, actually.

What looks to be about five or six bandit vehicles of all shapes and sizes are parked along the edge of the cavern. The strangest part is it looks as if there was a small camp there _before_ the bandits showed up, as there’s not even the usual guts and graffiti flung around on the tents and tables.

Troy carefully backs the technical up until its out of sight behind a cluster of tall rocks.

“Um, okay so, what the fuck?” he breathes, looking over his shoulder at Tyreen, the panic obvious in his face and voice. “What are all these assholes doing here?”

“I honestly don’t have a damn clue,” Tyreen admits.

Reaching over the seat, she brushes her hand over an exposed patch of skin along his spinal port. With a little concentration, she sends a warm, glowing pulse through her fingertips and into his skin. _Calm down_. He sucks in a deep breath, nods wordlessly, and accepts the offering, the red markings on his face flickering bright for just a second.

“We can just… we can just turn around, you know,” Troy says quietly, gripping the steering wheel so tightly with one hand his fingers are turning pale.

“Can we? I mean, we made it this far in one piece.” Tyreen swirls her finger around in the air, indicating the general space around them. “What’s a little further, huh? You’ve got me, and now Mouthpiece. We’re totally badass killing machines.”

“I would never fail the God-Queen,” Mouthpiece agrees.

Troy laughs softly in spite of himself. “You’re not wrong…” He sighs. “Did anyone happen to see any terminals on the way in?”

Tyreen lifts a brow. “No? Why? It’s not like the bandits are in the Cloud. That ship sailed a looong time ago.”

“I meant more for… you know…” He clears his throat delicately. “_Ourselves_.”

There’s a weird pang in her chest at that. Sure, life is cheap on Pandora, but even knowing there’s a ninety-seven percent chance of coming back perfectly reconstructed, watching someone you care about get hurt will always suck. Not to mention what happens when the New-U _can’t_ bring you back in one piece.

“Troy, we are not gonna die.” 

He’s silent for a long time, worrying the faded scars on his face between his fingertips. 

“I _promise_, nothing bad’s gonna happen. I got your back, you know that?” 

That gets a little chuckle out of him. “Literally,” he says, like he always does. Tyreen’s got the scars on her own back to prove it.

“That’s right.” She ruffles his hair gently. “Damn, you really need a haircut. Anyway, let’s go see if there’s any Eridian crap left in there for us, okay?”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Troy mutters, silently shutting the technical door as he climbs down.

Tyreen elects to not comment as she creeps up to the edge of the rocks and peers into the cavern.

“Hey, Mouthpiece, what do you think they’re looking for?” she whispers, glancing over and beckoning him with a curl of her finger.

“Hm.” He moves closer to join her. “If they haven’t changed leaders since I was removed… Skagclaw is an old woman, but not frail by any means. She’ll search for and use anything that can help give her an edge over her many enemies.”

“Even Eridian tech, I’m guessing,” says Troy. “Not that there’d be anything particularly deadly at your average dig site. You’d need to open a Vault for that, and to do that? You’d need… huh.”

“A Vault key,” Tyreen finishes. She looks back into the excavated chamber in amazement. And, if she’s being honest with herself, a little hope, too. “There couldn’t be one here, could there? Maybe a fragment, if you got lucky.”

“_If_ you got lucky,” Troy agrees, rubbing his chin. “I don’t know, there’s too many variables here.”

“Time for a closer look, then.” 

Without another word, Tyreen darts across the path to a closer group of rocks to crouch behind. She can hear Troy make a squeaky noise of alarm behind her, but there’s no time to waste. Up ahead, there are a handful of bandits milling about, likely on patrol duty, but they’re either preoccupied talking with one another or polishing their buzz axes. She takes a few minutes to count heads, comparing it to the red blips on her ECHO map to make sure there won’t be any surprises sneaking up on them later.

“Come on,” she mouths, waving the boys over. Mouthpiece follows obediently, but Troy looks pained as he hunches down and scrambles frantically across the way.

“Right, so we got… five guys in total keeping watch,” Tyreen explains, holding an open hand up just in case Mouthpiece needs a visual. “Seems a little excessive, right?”

Troy nods. “Unless we’re right about there being something worthwhile down there.”

“I can take a couple of ‘em at a time, I’ll just need you guys to provide some, uh, distraction to keep the rest off my back when the rakk hits the turbine.”

“A _distraction_?” Troy hisses, but Mouthpiece’s giant hand comes down on his shoulder, squeezing firmly.

“Together we’ll be formidable foes, Lieutenant,” he says solemnly, and then begins to haul a flustered Troy off in the other direction.

On her own now, Tyreen lies in wait and strains her ears to try to catch any bits and pieces of useful conversation that may come her way. The name Skagclaw does come up more than anything else, primarily, it seems, out of fear of screwing up whatever operation they’ve got going on out here, rather than the bandit lord herself making a personal appearance. She briefly considers sneaking a little closer to pick up some more idle chatter, when a waste barrel goes flying across the excavation site, body-checking the hell out of a bandit and sending him falling into a table.

“DEATH TO ALL WHO OPPOSE THE MIGHTY GOD-QUEEN!” bellows Mouthpiece as he opens fire with two pistols. 

“Uh, yeah, what he said!” Troy yells weakly, following suit, and together, the night lights up in white and yellow flashes as if a storm were overhead.

“Oh, hell! Is that Brosno?” groans one bandit. 

Another grabs him by the neck and headbutts their painted faces together. “Kill that big idiot before Skagclaw finds out he’s still alive!” 

If they weren’t in a literal life and death situation right now, Tyreen might’ve burst out laughing. Instead, she slowly comes out into the open. The thin blue markings winding across her left palm and fingers start to glow, growing brighter and brighter with each passing second. Sucking in a breath, she takes a step forward, then another, arms outstretched as if she’s about to tear the whole sky down. The bandits closest to her stop firing on Mouthpiece to look at her with confusion that quickly melts into hostility when it’s apparent she’s not slowing down.

“Get the damn witch!” 

“GET HER! GET HER! GET THAT ONE!” 

Bullets zip in her direction, lighting up the edges of her shield all around her, but a raw, otherworldly strength burns in each of her limbs now. While Troy might be skittish around combat, this is where Tyreen truly shines; it’s maybe the only thing she’s ever been good at: hurting people.

“Don’t worry, assholes!” Tyreen calls out, and the power reverberates in her voice, too. “This will all be over quick!”

Familiar red tendrils, dark and shimmering like blood, begin to stream from the closest bandit guard’s body. He makes a strangled noise in shock and pain, twisting to get away, but Tyreen, brow furrowed, doesn’t let up. She gives one hard yank with her mind, ripping the life from him so fast he explodes, splattering her with warm, bloody chunks. Another one of the guards fires at her wildly before turning to flee, too, and she reaches out again, grabbing at that strange essence, that thread of _life_ lingering at the edge of her own and singing to her sweeter than any song she’s ever heard.

Game over, bitch.

In a matter of seconds, he’s reduced to a dark, powdery husk that only resembles a human being in the vaguest sense of the word. Caught in an unnatural position, the mangled husk tips on its side, falling face down with a heavy thud. 

But, hell, she hasn’t eaten a real meal in so damn long, she’s almost dizzy with how alive, how _strong_ she feels now. Filled up at last, Tyreen looks up just in time to see two more howling bandits rush her from within the excavation pit. Her arms instinctively shoot out, her confidence faltering just a little as her mind races to snare them both before they smash her shield to pieces. But something kind of amazing happens instead: Mouthpiece suddenly appears behind them, a towering brute lit from behind in bright orange by the torch light, and he grabs each by the backs of their heads, slamming their faces together until they stop twitching. He tosses the bodies aside easily like rags and offers her one giant, bloody hand.

Not that she would ever admit this, because actually she totally had this and he’s kind of cramping her style, but there are probably stars in her eyes right now.

“No touching unless I say so,” Tyreen reminds him gently, then clears her throat. “But, uh, good work, guys. Really good.”

The scuffle already won, she moves to join Troy, who's busying himself with the extremely nasty-ass task of searching the bloody bandit corpses—but not before taking a quick detour to her husk. She gives it one hard kick, shattering it into sparkling dust that floats away on a strong, cool breeze.

“That’s for shooting me, prick,” she says under her breath.

“Wow, Ty, you were actually… really cool back there.” Troy waves her over and gives her a one-armed hug before realizing she’s covered in someone’s brains. “Ew, what the hell?”

“Yeah,” she says triumphantly, thumbing a chunk of viscera off his shirt. “Never had that happen before. Guess I don’t know my own strength anymore.”

Troy gives her a long, considering look, the kind where she can _tell_ the gears are spinning in his mind. “Yeah, I guess so.” Then he wiggles his fingers at her. “Juice me up, sis.” 

Typical that he doesn’t let her get five whole minutes alone with her siphoned power, but she _guesses_ he’s always needed it more than she does. Tyreen rolls her eyes and slaps her hand into his, channeling some of her newfound strength through it, their skin crackling like wild electricity before fizzing out only seconds later. He laughs quietly to himself, giddy with the boost.

“Hello?” calls a new voice, echoing distantly from within the cavern. The three of them rush to the edge to peer into its semi-darkness. “Is anyone there?”

“Uh, who wants to know?” Troy calls back immediately, and then shrugs helplessly when Tyreen glares at him.

“Obviously that’s not a bandit, that’s like… a normal person, dumbass,” she whispers, throwing her hands up.

“Then why are they in a damn _hole_,” Troy shoots back, just as quietly.

“Normal for _Pandora_.”

“If that’s sarcasm,” the voice continues, oblivious to the argument brewing overhead, “let me make this clear only once: I don’t acknowledge it. It’s a waste of time, it’s for slobbering lackeys, and not those of us with genius intellects who endeavor to communicate as clearly as possible.”

“No, no! Not sarcasm!” Tyreen pushes Troy out of the way as she scrambles to find a way down. There's a plastic ladder on one side, highlighted by two small solar-powered lights, and she quickly slides down to the bottom of the chamber. “Ignore him, he’s the lackey, not me.”

“_Tyreen!_” Troy hisses.

“Oh, good! I trust from the lack of screaming about spelunking rib cages that you’re _not_ bandits?” inquires the voice. 

Tyreen peers down two narrow tunnels within the cave, the end of the one on the left much more brightly lit than the right, and then follows the light.

“That’s right,” confirms Tyreen. “We’re, uh, Eridian researchers, actually.”

“That is an amazing coincidence, as one of my many doctorates is in Eridian Studies, which I helped develop, of course.”

“Wait, _who_ are you?” asks Tyreen, passing through the tunnel a little more quickly until it opens into a much smaller, warmer chamber.

At the center of it, a woman, her dark hair threaded with silver, sits at a metal table surrounded by crates. In one hand she carries a large magnifying glass held up to her eye as she examines crudely cut stones wider than her palm, occasionally jotting down notes in a datapad at her elbow. Her ankle is circled by a chain that runs back to a ring secured into the closest stone wall, but it doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

“Dr. Patricia Tannis,” she says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, not bothering to look up from her work. “Please stay where you are until my olfactory receptors adjust to your stench. You may not _be_ a bandit but you certainly reek of one.” 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, kinda… uhhh, blew up a guy back there!” With an awkward laugh, Tyreen jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Uh, Tannis, you said? Like… from the Coeus Symposium of ‘29?”

The woman’s green eye, huge and distorted in the glass, abruptly flicks up. “How do you know that?”

“My mom was there, actually. Way before I was born.” Tyreen figures enough of her stink has wafted around and excitedly pulls a crate up to use as a chair. “She thought you were doing great work, up until she fell off the face of the known universe. Man, it is _so_ weird to finally meet you—”

Tannis lowers the magnifying glass with a loud _clack_ and leans in close, her nostrils flaring at the smell as she studies Tyreen’s face closely. “Your mother… Her name?”

“Calypso. Leda Calypso.”

“Calypso,” Tannis repeats, with a trace of fondness that Tyreen can already tell doesn’t come easily for the doctor. “Yes, yes, I remember her and her research well, as it greatly inspired my own. You look just like her, except with a worse haircut.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” Tyreen murmurs to herself, running her fingers through the bleached strands.

“You know,” continues Tannis blithely, “we in the admittedly small scholarly Eridian community often wondered what befell of dear Leda Calypso all those years ago. Last anyone heard of her she was preparing an expedition to the fabled Eridian homeworld with Typhon DeLeon. Pray tell, whatever became of her?”

“She’s here.” Tyreen gently slaps a hand down on the table for emphasis. “On Pandora. It’s where we’ve been hiding—I mean, _living_ for like, ages. Me and my brother, we help her with her research down here, that’s the whole reason we came all the way… to you, I guess. Not that we knew you were here. Why _are_ you here, anyway?”

“Ah, you must mean the chain. Now, as comfortable as it may be, it’s not a common occurrence.” Tannis stomps her foot, making the metal links rattle behind her. “Oh, Lilith did try to stop me from travelling out this way, but as I told her repeatedly, the science isn’t going to do itself. We must bravely endeavor in its name, even at great personal risk and the occasional lack of dry shampoo.”

“And then you got kidnapped by bandits,” Tyreen points out, trying to wipe the stupid smile of her face. Come on, one scientist in Rustrazor territory? What did she _think_ was going to happen?

Tannis deflates a little. “I was kidnapped by bandits,” she agrees. “Regrettably, I have had many dealings with them in the past, so I was able to negotiate a favorable deal: In exchange for my continued existence, here in my own camp, I would appraise the worth of whatever Eridian artifacts that fell into their grubby hands for their leader, Smegma.”

Tyreen smothers a wild laugh. “It’s Skagclaw, I think.”

“That’s what I said,” Tannis says mildly. “Don’t interrupt. Where was I? Oh, yes, of course, I’ve been lying to Skagclaw and her ruffians this entire time as I wait for a rescue, as they did manage to procure _some_ things of interest to keep me from going insane with boredom.”

“Well, as much as I would love to sit and look at all this stuff, me and my crew just totally murdered our way in here and I’m sure the bandits’ll be real pissed off about that so we gotta skedaddle ASAP. Consider this your rescue, Doc.”

“Wait, what do you think you’re doing—” 

But there’s no more time left to waste. Tyreen drops to one knee beside the table, grabs the chain around Tannis’ ankle with both hands, and easily shatters it with a burst of pale violet light. Her left arm is glowing when she gets to her feet, the Siren markings showing clear as day through the cloth there.

Tannis stares at them for what feels like a solid minute. 

“Just a moment.” She opens her jacket and stuffs a few of the heavy-looking stones into the lining, making the whole thing bulge out ridiculously. 

“Consider my interest piqued, whatever your name is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...aaand thank you for sticking with me another chapter.


	3. How Many Of These Common Fears Haunt You Constantly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Borderlands, where nasty shit happens all the time, but I'm gonna slap a body horror warning on this one juuust in case.

There’s something off about Tannis. Sure, Tyreen has been living off of her mother’s same worn stories of brilliant people like the doctor for the last decade or two, but she hadn’t really expected… _this_. Tannis seems to be afraid of almost everything: talking abruptly, sudden movements but only from her left side, loud noises, the color orange, mouth-breathing, the list goes on and on. It’s really a wonder she’s survived multiple encounters with bandits at all, because her body is basically on the verge of putting her insides on the outside if you so much as look at her wrong, and bandits do a lot worse than just _look_.

“Tannis,” Tyreen asks gently from the back of the technical, “how long have you actually _been_ on Pandora?”

“Oh, it’s been so long I can hardly remember!” Whenever Tannis laughs, it’s as abrupt as breaking a dish, this half-restrained thing inside her that Tyreen figures has to give way to keep her from tears instead. “The better part of fifteen years, if I must hazard a guess.”

“And, don’t take this the wrong way, you never thought of like, leaving?”

“What? Who’s leaving?” Tannis looks around in a panic. “Where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere, nowhere!” Shit, now _Tyreen’s_ panicking. “Um, wait, trick question, home, we’re getting you back to your lab, remember?”

Her hands hover around Tannis nervously, too afraid to touch her when they’re both freaking the hell out. If she hadn’t been born a Siren maybe she’d have any idea of how to comfort someone _not_ her twin brother, but instead Tannis’ nose starts to run red all on its own, spraying the both of them in blood, and Tyreen has to rip part of her shirt off to give to her to stem the flow.

“What’s the matter with Tannis?” Tyreen whispers to Mouthpiece later, while the sun is blazing directly overhead.

They’ve stopped for the afternoon to check for supplies at an abandoned motel. It’s been pretty thoroughly picked over, but it’s got a Fast Travel Troy’s trying to get running again and a broken vending machine that Tyreen managed to shake until it dropped spare gear of questionable quality. Tannis, though, is busy happily chatting with a metal chair that she found in a dumpster.

Mouthpiece looks up at the doctor from the pile of scavenged rifle parts in his lap, matching rusty barrels to stocks to chambers. After a long moment, he says, simply, “Nothing,” and returns to the task at hand.

“What do you mean, nothing? You don’t think there’s anything wrong at all? I can't get her to stop bleeding and/or vomiting on me.”

“Not with her.” Mouthpiece thumps his chest with two giant fingers.

“With… _oh_.” The sun beating down on them makes her cheeks feel hotter all of a sudden. “Bandits.”

“And Pandora itself. It’s why we need you, God-Queen. The whole planet…” He shakes his head gently, breathing a sigh through his mask’s filter as he works. “There’s something foul lurking deep within it. It poisons us all, our bodies and minds. Some more than others, but in the end we all succumb. You, though, you can bleed the wound; you can excise the poison. You’re our salvation.”

A cold lump grows in Tyreen’s stomach as if she just swallowed an ice cube. Part of her wants to grab Troy and run very, _very_ fucking far away from anything to do with bandits and wasteland cults. Maybe they can patch up the ol’ ship again and head somewhere nicer with Mom, like one of the Edens. She hears the weather is good all year long out in that system, and though it’s less socially acceptable to eat people there, if she can survive off of spiderants then she’s totally got saurians in the bag. 

“Hey.” She rolls her fist gently into Mouthpiece’s shoulder like the world’s softest punch, and then her hand is gone again. “Give it to me straight, big guy. You actually believe… every word you just said?”

Mouthpiece nods. “Every word.”

“Even though like, five years ago you had never heard of anything like the God-Queen?”

“My mind wasn’t ready then. I was… It was—” He pauses, and Tyreen doesn’t need to be able to see his face to know he’s clearly struggling with whatever he’s trying to say next. “It wasn’t my own,” he settles on, his voice softer than she's ever heard. “Now I see clearly.”

“You, uh, ever consider the possibility that you’re really freakin’ wrong instead?” asks Tyreen quietly. This is the first time she’s ever raised any doubts about her godhood, and she knows, above all, if Mouthpiece ever turned on her, if he were ever a danger to Troy, or even Tannis, she’d do what needs to be done. Her hand is still hovering over his skin, soaking up the midday heat radiating off him, and this has got to win a prize for the most pathetic she’s ever been, feeling touch-starved around a guy she’s deeply considering killing one day.

“If your followers ever wavered in their faith, then they wouldn’t be fit to serve you, God-Queen,” he says calmly, locking the gun parts together with a final click. He lifts the aftermarket rifle easily in one hand. “For you.”

“Uhhh, thank you.” A little taken aback by the gift, Tyreen examines the gun briefly—testing its weight, squinting down the scope at some random speck moving in the distance—then stashes it in her storage deck. 

“Hey, Ty,” calls Troy, jogging up to the two without even breaking a sweat or wheezing. His last energy transfer must be holding up pretty well. “Does Tannis seem… um… okay to you?” He glances over his shoulder nervously, where the doctor is now loading the chair from earlier into the back of the technical.

Tyreen smiles. “She’s gonna be fine, Troy. Any word on that Fast Travel out here?”

“Oh! Right.” Troy scratches the back of his head. “Well, nothing’s wrong with the power coupling, the terminal is just deactivated, somehow. Probably it got bumped off the network ages ago, and there’s been no one around to fix it.”

Tyreen sighs, because, of course. “Aaand _you_ can’t fix it?”

“Ha! I mean, sure, if I had access to like, a military grade lunar beacon. Even then, the only corp still doing business down here is Hyperion, and a F.T. requisition could take months, maybe years. On top of _that_, you’ve also got—”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” Tyreen waves her hand wildly until he stops, blinking owlishly at her through his goggles. “It’s impossible to put us on the network. So what are our options?”

“Keep searching until we find a terminal that works, obviously. Splitrock’s filled with abandoned factories and stations, the network must be extensive out here. It’s the fastest way to get us through the gorge, especially if we don’t wanna be up to our eyeballs in bandits taking any of the main roads. If Tannis is right about this Sanctuary place—”

“I am _never_ wrong!” Tannis calls from the truck, both arms wrapped warmly around her new chair.

“...as I was saying,” Troy continues, his face folding up into a scowl. “If Tannis is right—”

“I would really ask yourself what you have to gain from this character assassination!”

Troy throws both hands up in the air with a groan. “Tannis, please! Let me finish my debriefing!” 

“Oh, of course. Carry on.”

“If we can link up with Sanctuary,” says Troy in a low, strained voice, “it’d solve a _lot_ of our problems. I remember hearing about it on the radio years ago, we all thought it was too good to be true then, but maybe the Crimson Raiders can help us out. Medicine, parts for the ship, Tannis has her lab out there, we’d be set for a good, long while, Ty. I’m serious.”

Tyreen takes him by the elbow and hauls him away from the others. “Real talk? It still sounds too good to be true. I mean, we don’t really know how long Tannis was out here. She was waiting for a rescue and no one came. What if… there isn’t any Sanctuary to go back to, huh?”

“Don’t be like that, Tyreen.” Troy gently tugs his arm out of her grasp. “You’re telling me you don’t wanna even try? After everything we’ve been through?” He pauses, and then hits her with her own words: “What’s a little further?”

“Ugh, you already know I never say no to anything _especially_ if it’s mega-dangerous. I just gotta admit that struggling every step of the way toward a goal is starting to feel like some fucked up Herculean myth. Am I right?”

Troy laughs in spite of himself. “I know, it’s kind of a tall order. But I seem to remember that you and my man Mouthpiece over there,” he flashes the bandit a robo-thumbs up, but Mouthpiece isn’t interested, “uh, are totally badass killing machines.”

“You’re not wrong. In fact, you’re super right. I just want like, one tiny little break here, you know?” She holds up her fingers, pinching the thin air. “Finding Tannis was cool and all but she won’t even let us get a sweet peek at those Eridian artifacts until she thinks, I don’t know, we’re not gonna murderize her in cold blood.”

Troy puts his fleshy hand on top of her head and ruffles her hair. It’s a little obnoxious and endearing at the same time, somehow, and she knows her head is going to look totally messed up now. “I know, and I’m telling you, I think this _is_ our break. A big one, too. We just gotta push harder.”

Tyreen studies his face carefully. Even if she didn’t want to go through with this, she would anyway, just because _he_ did. She doesn’t tell him enough how right he often is, and probably never will, but he’s definitely right about this. They deserve better, don’t they? They deserve a place like Sanctuary.

“All right, everyone pee break over!” She claps, letting it echo throughout the motel. “Let’s get back in the damn truck.”

*

According to the 3D map, the nearest Fast Travel terminal is located in Achlysian Refinery, a Hyperion factory sitting abandoned at the top of a fairly large hill. While normally a space like that would be considered prime bandit real estate, Mouthpiece warned them that the Rustrazors never took over because the refinery run-off was leaking into the groundwater. Everything for miles around the hill was slowly being poisoned by slag: the plants, the animals, even the workers themselves weren't spared.

It’s like driving through a cemetery now. Any and all manner of life is stripped down to sickly purple skeletons that litter the landscape in some twisted parody of tombstones. Tyreen can’t even be sure what the hell half of the bodies are anymore, they’re far too huge and mutated, but the smell is worse than rotting flesh and standing water combined. With every breath, the air feels sharp and toxic in her lungs, and she’s probably developed about five diseases in the short time they’ve been here.

“I remember this place,” says Tannis softly. “It was ground zero for slag research. The very first time Hyperion became aware of its… mutagenic properties.”

“And they used their own workers to test out their little pet project, huh,” Troy remarks, whistling softly. “Pretty messed up.”

“Yeah, well, Handsome Jack was a real piece of shit, so no surprises there,” Tyreen points out, and that’s something every Pandoran, native and transplant, young and old, can agree on.

They get the technical to the top of the hill and stash it somewhere safe behind a broken building outside the main factory. Creepy corpses or not, there’s no telling if their streak of bad luck will finally run out up here, so they might need the ride back down later.

Tyreen hops down from the bed of the truck and quickly pulls the rifle Mouthpiece gave her out of her backpack unit. It’s weird because the lenses of his mask totally obscure his eyes, but she can tell, from her periphs, that he’s watching her closely right now. She turns a little more to see him better, giving him a quick wave with the end of her gun, and feels all warm and gooey when he nods approvingly at the choice of weaponry.

With Tyreen leading the way and Mouthpiece bringing up the rear, shielding both Troy and Tannis from any surprise attacks, they make their way carefully across the refinery yard. The acrid stench of eridium run-off is much, much stronger up here, but so is the decay: There’s a pile of bodies stacked near the concrete wall that encircles the factory, all twisted and stained the same shade of violet.

“Ugh, I think I’m gonna be sick,” Tyreen mutters, covering her mouth with her forearm. She coughs weakly into it for what feels like a full minute, her stomach turning all the while. “This is _so_ fucking nasty.”

“Please don’t throw up because then I’ll start gagging and we’ll never stop,” says Troy from behind her. “It’ll be just an endless circle of us dying.”

“I have an idea.” They all turn to watch Mouthpiece slip his mask loose. The face beneath it looks as brutal as the rest of him, all hard angles and scars, including these impressively deep claw marks that rake from one brow to his jaw. Tyreen is so distracted by it she almost misses the fact that he’s now holding his mask up to her.

“There’s a ventilator piece inside,” he explains, moving a little closer.

“Oh, right.” Tyreen takes it from him, giving the inside of it a quick glance for anything weird like bloodstains, and then slips it on. It’s not a bad fit, and readjusting the straps gets it closer to comfortable. The lenses, on the other hand, make everything look faintly orange; it’s a little disorienting.

She waves her hand in front of her eyes. “Kinda cool.”

“Hey, what about me?” Troy folds his arms over his chest, practically pouting.

Oh, great. Here comes the whining. “Uh, what _about_ you?” Tyreen shoots back.

“You’re gonna let me breathe this crap nasty air, in my condition?”

Tyreen rolls her eyes, fully knowing he can’t see it. “Tannis is breathing this crap nasty air, and she’s fine. Right, Tannis?”

Tannis stares at her, eyes wide, and shakes her head repeatedly. “I am barely keeping it together, I assure you!”

“Oh. Um, we’ll take turns, all right?”

That seems to satisfy everyone for now, though Tyreen secretly hopes that either someone forgets about the taking turns part, or they get through this faster than expected. 

The inside of the factory is somehow much creepier than the outside. There’s a heavy chain laying broken at the entrance, which explains how the workers’ bodies got carried out, but, again, there’s a big-ass chain now broken by… something. Or rather, someone. Someones? Tyreen tries not to think too hard about it, because there’s too much other weird shit going on. Like the corpses slumped on the floor, turning into purple soup inside their sealed suits and occasionally making disgusting gurgling sounds whenever someone steps over them. Or the strange warnings and phrases painted along the walls, over doors and some of the intact windows, sometimes in white paint, other times in what looks like dry blood, flaking off in the breeze.

_IT’S ALWAYS WATCHING_, proclaims one wall, the red, foot-tall letters wrapped around a frantic drawing of a bloodshot eye.

Over the inside of a broken door: _DON’T LET IT IN._

And, perhaps worst of all: _IT’S INSIDE OF ME, IT’S INSIDE OF US ALL._

Tyreen shudders and presses on. 

The corridor they’re in eventually opens up into a small courtyard, only everything in it is as broken and rotten as the rest of the factory. But there, at the far end, is that break they’ve been looking for: a powered up Fast Travel, projecting two globes, one of Pandora, and a smaller of Elpis. 

“Holy shit, it’s on,” Troy whispers excitedly as they approach it. “I can’t believe it. Something in this shithole that actually works.”

“How come these guys didn’t use it, then?” Tyreen whispers back. It feels weird to raise her voice in a dead place.

“It’s, uh… look closely, behind the Pandora model.” She does, and sees there’s a prohibited symbol floating over the screen. “It just means it’s been digitally locked. Probably Hyperion shut it down from their end, hopped down to grab their samples, and left the poor bastards down here to… well, you saw the mess. I can totally bypass it, though, I just need a few min—”

“FRESH BLOOD FOR THE PUTREFIER!” screams a voice, unnaturally deep and distorted. Then something _real_ heavy crashes behind them. “WE’VE BEEN HUNGRY!”

“Oh, come on!” hisses Tyreen, spinning on her heel to come fact to face with… the most disgusting creature she’s ever laid eyes on.

There’s a massive, two-legged thing that maybe once used to be a guy or a few guys, judging by the extra heads and arms, but is now grossly swollen with flesh and faintly glowing pustules that run all along its arms and back. Its skin is a deep violet, covered in fissures, some cracked open deep enough to see the glowing skeleton beneath.

Even the ventilator can’t pump the air fast enough to displace the horrific smell emanating from its fucked up body. Tyreen rips Mouthpiece’s mask off, and now the taste is sour and burning in her damn _mouth_, and she can’t help but almost double up as she retches.

“Troy, you gotta… ugh, you gotta hurry,” she wheezes, and then drags her ass far away from the terminal, firing shots into the monster as she runs that make its nasty pustules burst wide open, dripping slag-tinged blood down its body.

All the warped heads on the Putrefier’s body cry out simultaneously, this unholy racket of, “MAKE THE BLOOD SING, MAKE THE BLOOD SING!” as it lumbers forward, shaking the earth with every step. It swings one giant arm out and shoots a ball of pale energy from its palm. It doesn’t catch Tyreen, she’s much too fast for that, but the wall near where she was standing just mere seconds ago is now scorched.

So, _that's_ a thing, and she's not very happy about it. 

“Flank it!” she yells at Mouthpiece, but he’s already got the right idea, sprinting at top speed along the courtyard to get at its back. One of his rounds makes a head explode, and the Putrefier screams so loud Tyreen can’t think straight, her eyeballs practically shaking in their sockets.

“Oh, do make it stop that horrible noise!” calls Tannis from behind the terminal, using her hands to cover both her ears.

Sighing, Tyreen heaves her rifle up to aim down the sights. “Trying my best!” She takes one shot, two shots, _bam!_ right in another one of its heads, violet gore splattering the wall behind it. The screaming doesn’t _stop_, but it does get noticeably quieter, enough that Tyreen’s brain isn’t on the verge of bleeding out through her ears.

“Almost got it!” yells Troy, punching keys as fast as he can. “Tannis, you got that access code ready?”

Tannis hesitates. “You have to make sure that _thing_ can’t follow us back to Sanctuary.”

“Gonna be real with you, I don’t even know if it _can_ die,” says Tyreen, dodging another blast from one of its twisted arms.

“Nothing is immune to bullets,” Mouthpiece tells her, and damn is it still weird to hear him talking without a filter. To drive home his point, he scores another headshot. The Putrefier seems to be slowing down now, its knuckles dragging on the ground as it careens on one heel and goes tearing after Mouthpiece.

“Nothing is immune to _me_ either but you don’t see me trying to…” Tyreen trails off as it suddenly hits her. _Of course_. She knows exactly how to put this monster down for good. “I’ve got it!” A wild laugh escapes her. “Ha! I’m gonna drain this son of a bitch! Keep it distracted, M.P.!”

She stashes her gun and runs straight at the Putrefier’s back, every step slamming a wave of burning, noxious air into her face. All she needs to do is grab a hold of it _once_ and this will all be over. There’s a table to her left and she races up it, using the bench as a stepping stone, running along the length of it to build speed and—_now!_ She jumps onto one of the creature’s swollen arms and holds on like her life depends on it. Actually, it kind of _does_.

Its skin is impossibly hot and slimy against her own, but Tyreen doesn’t dare let go. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrates on drawing as much life from it as quickly as possible. There’s a moment of resistance, which has never happened pretty much ever, but she shoves down the panic rising in her throat: Nothing can escape her forever, not even some other freak with powers. 

When it finally hits her, the rush is… immense. This thing is so huge and so full of life, and every last drop of it is being siphoned directly into her body. The Putrefier screams in pain again (“NO MORE HURTING, PUT THE BLOOD BACK, STOP IT!”) and tries to swing her off its arm, but she just grips tighter, her fingers slipping into the blisteringly hot slough of its disgusting flesh. She’s _not_ giving up, not ever.

A giant hand comes out and slams into her back, ripping her free. It doesn’t hurl her into the nearest wall, thankfully, but it’s far from gentle as it squeezes her rib cage hard enough to crack something and brings her close to its mutated head.

“PUT THE BLOOD BACK!” it gasps in her face. Its eyes, too many of them, look like they’re melting into its skull.

But Tyreen’s hand is still making contact with one of its huge fingers, a blood red tendril wriggling between them.

“I win,” she wheezes, and the Putrefier’s face goes dark and hard as the last chunk of life is ripped from it.

Her eyes slip shut, just for a quick second, she swears, but the next thing she knows she’s being carried in someone’s arms. Definitely not Troy, then. She doesn’t remember falling, but every muscle in her body is groaning in protest, _especially_ her ass muscles.

“What’s going on?” she asks weakly, squinting up into… Mouthpiece’s face. His naked face. That sends a shock through her system, because _holy shit_, and she immediately starts squirming to get free. “Hey, no, put me down! You’re gonna get hurt!”

“It’s all right,” he says quietly, glancing down at her and then away, as if he can’t bear it. “I will endure any pain, God-Queen.”

Fuck. “I don’t _want_ to hurt you, big guy,” she explains, just as softly, “my powers… I don’t always have the best control of ‘em, okay? Just trust me on this when I say, I would love to be carried around like a little princess but you gotta put me down. Right now.”

He does so, immediately and gently. 

“Woof, okay!” Tyreen wobbles a little as she hurries back to the terminal where Troy and Tannis are clinging to each other like baby jabbers. “I’m somehow feeling amazing and like hot garbage at the same time. That sucks!”

“Um, holy fuck?” says Troy in a tiny voice. “I can’t believe you… did that.”

“Sing my praises later, mano, I just want out of here like, pronto. And a hot shower. Please let there be hot water in this Sanctuary place.”

“Just a moment,” Tannis says, turning to the Fast Travel and finally typing in her access code.

“Greetings,” chirps the terminal in a light, feminine voice. “You will be arriving at your destination in three… two… one…”

The entire world collapses into a tunnel of blue and white light, and Achlysian Refinery is already just a bad memory far behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're worried about the new relationship tag, I will say one thing about this, and that's that I don't subscribe to that weird article that was floating around about the Calypso twins being heteros. I just don't. This is for the bisexuals.


	4. Now Selling An Incredibly Weak Pepper Spray You Can Use On People Who Are Annoying But Not Dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than the other chapters, but I will have more up soon, never fear!

Every cell in Tyreen’s body aches for the longest second of her life. It’s not unlike abruptly being rammed into a too small hole, only the hole is about the size of an atom, and her body is shattering into a hundred million pieces and simultaneously being knit back together before her very own eyes. In the next second, the digital explosion of teleportation still ringing in her ears, she can stare at her hands, which are miraculously whole again and don’t look any different from how they looked when the Fast Travel first activated. Maybe cleaner, somehow, but no extra fingers either, thankfully. 

So _that’s_ what it feels like to respawn, and it sure does suck major ass.

“Whoa, Tannis?” says a gruff voice. “Guess we gotta scrub that rescue mission, Salvador. Heh, scrub…”

Tyreen is still blinking pixels from her eyes when she’s suddenly aware that there are two short dudes standing in front of her. 

“Did we make it?” she asks quietly, looking around a small concrete room that is utterly unremarkable in every way, except for a skylight directly above her and some bulletin board on one wall laden with posters. Tannis is too busy doubled up and dry heaving in the corner to answer. “Is this… Sanctuary?”

“Well, technically? Yes _and_ no,” says the first dude, looking strangely pleased with himself.

“Man, shut up, Axton,” says the even shorter dude, elbowing Axton aside. He must be Salvador, then. “Look, it’s Sanctuary all right, chica, but it’s really Sanctuary II. Long story, lots of gross guys blowing up. Maybe I tell you about it if you buy me a beer.”

“Oh, great! Keep that energy up and maybe we’ll have to,” Troy remarks sourly, then squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his temples. “Ugh, why is this tech giving me a monster headache?”

Tyreen rolls her eyes. “Ignore him.” Troy quite literally pouts. “New topic: Who’s the head honcho around here, boys?”

“That’d be our commander, Lilith,” says Axton easily. “Now that I don’t have to gun down a bunch of half-naked dudes to get our scientist back my schedule is like—_woo!_—so clear for the week. C’mon, I’ll take ya to her.”

Salvador smacks him. “Hey, pendejo, Tannis looks like she needs drugs. Not drugs drugs, but the shit that’s supposed to be good for you but you’re not even having a good time.”

“I do so loathe to travel in this fashion,” says Tannis in a small voice, her face noticeably pale and tinged with green as she straightens up.

Annoyed, Axton throws his hands in the air. “All right, then Salvador can take you to Zed.”

“See, this is why I broke up with your ass,” says Salvador, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disappointment. “Always taking the easy way out. C’mon, Patty, let’s go see el médico.”

“I also loathe to see Dr. Zed,” Tannis points out as they start down one doorway without so much as a goodbye to the others. “He’s not even a real medical doctor, you know,” she adds in an exaggerated whisper.

“Uh, you didn’t break up with me! We’re mutually on a break!” Axton yells at Salvador’s back, getting farther and farther away now. Tyreen just puts her face in her hand and tries not to cringe in secondhand embarrassment, because, _wow_, dude, talk about desperation. He turns to Tyreen suddenly. “He didn’t break up with me, just so we all know.”

“Someone’s touchy,” says Troy with a smirk.

Axton’s face scrunches up into a scowl. “Someone’s... freakishly tall.”

It’s probably the weakest comeback Tyreen has ever heard, but Troy’s smirk immediately evaporates. “Hey!”

“The _commander_,” Tyreen reminds them both with an exasperated groan, lest she end up trapped in this room all day listening to them bitch each other to death. “I can and will make Mouthpiece break up whatever bullshit you’re about to embark on.”

Mouthpiece continues to remain silent, save for the very pointed cracking of his massive knuckles.

Eyes narrowed, Axton watches the bandit warily, no doubt sizing him up in his mind, and then suddenly grins, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just fucking with ya. She’s this way, guys.”

Axton leads the three of them through the winding maze that is Sanctuary II. According to him, the town used to be a huge Dahl water reclamation plant for one of their budding colonies about twenty years ago. Then their first dry season hit, and bye-bye colony.

“Yeah, Commander Lilith doesn’t like to talk about it for some reason,” Axton explains breezily, rapping his knuckles on a big pipe running through the corridor they’re traveling down. “I guess she’s still touchy about losing the first Sanctuary, or maybe she’s just not too hot about moving into a turd farm.” He looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “It’s not like any crap water has been through here in a long-ass time though, you know?”

Troy looks disgusted. “Yeah, but if there was no one around to run the plant, then the raw sewage just dried up in all these pipes.”

Axton blinks, looking from Troy down to where his hand is still resting on a rusty pipe. He slowly takes his hand away.

“Idiot,” Troy mutters under his breath.

Tyreen elbows him. “This is why you don’t have any friends, mano,” she whispers, lifting her eyebrows meaningfully when he gives her a slightly hurt look. 

But she’s not wrong. 

They moved around _a lot_ when they first got to Pandora, never staying in one place long enough for people to find out what Tyreen really was. Sometimes there were even a few settlements with kids around their age, which was nice, though she had to be careful to play games where she’d never accidentally touch them. But Tyreen has always been pretty sure that deep down Troy despised every one of those people as much as he did Pandora itself. 

See, it was always _them_ versus _us_ with Troy. Troy was smarter than everyone then, too, even the adults, who often couldn’t read more than a few words, let alone spell them correctly. Either it had been so long since they’d seen real books, or no one had ever taught them. Troy had started learning to read when he was _two_. And that was really all it took to earn his hatred, because they weren’t as good as _him_, but they had better lives anyway. They weren’t sick all the time. They weren’t… dying.

“I have friends,” Troy whispers back, but there’s no bite to it anymore.

“You have _me_,” Tyreen says, because it’s both a fact and a promise.

He nods. “Exactly.”

They follow after Axton as he hangs a right onto a catwalk spanning a huge, empty reservoir, and that leads into what appears to be a repurposed office overlooking a room filled with pipes. Even years later all the old equipment gently creaks, as if caught in a strong breeze, which is distracting, but not more distracting than the whole-ass Siren standing right in front of Tyreen, her blue markings on full display from her arm down to her exposed hip. 

“Axton, is there a reason you’re giving people a tour of my command center when we’re basically at war?” says the Siren testily, handing a note to some overworked grunt who immediately runs out of the room with it. None of the other people on deck bother to do more than glance over at the group before returning their attention to their stations.

“Oh, I’ve got good news, Commander, trust me. These guys right here?” Grinning ear to ear, he points each of them out. “They brought Tannis back. Alive, I might add.”

Commander Lilith’s eyes are like gold coins as they give Tyreen a careful once over, lingering over a patch of exposed skin on her left arm. Tyreen almost gasps and moves to instinctively cover it, but then… maybe not? Surprise and relief flood through the commander’s tired features.

“That’s the first piece of good news I’ve heard in days,” she says with a soft smile. “Can’t thank you enough for seeing one of our own to safety. We’d been _trying_ to push into the Rustrazors turf to get her back for awhile now, but it’s damn near impossible with their numbers. Feels like they’re growing every day, and they’re not happy about our little settlement getting in the way of their expansion.”

“It’s really no tr—well, it was a lot of trouble, actually, but we were happy to help anyway,” Tyreen explains truthfully, her hands moving nervously through the air as she speaks. “Tannis and us, we kinda go back.”

Commander Lilith looks shocked. “Not to be rude or anything, but how? Tannis isn’t exactly a social butterfly, but she’s never mentioned a…” She trails off, shakes her head, and then repeats herself a little more firmly. “Just… how?”

“Uh, maybe not us, personally, but our mom knew her, before Pandora.” Tyreen gives her the same story she gave Tannis, about her mother’s work, about her and her brother being Eridian researchers in search of new artifacts when they came across Skagclaw’s captive, the scientist herself.

Commander Lilith nods. “Good to know. Tannis is always complaining about never getting any help around here, and _then_ complaining about any help we do give her,” she adds with a chuckle, mostly to herself. “I’d appreciate it if you could go check on her later, killer. Now, I’m sure you already know who I am, let’s even the score and get some names, all right?”

“Tyreen. Tyreen Calypso. And this is my twin brother…”

Troy gives a little wave from behind her. “Troy. Also a Calypso, obviously.”

“And the big guy?”

Mouthpiece doesn’t uncross his arms from his massive chest. “I am called Mouthpiece,” he says quietly.

“I know, he looks like trouble,” Tyreen begins quickly, her fingers ghosting over his arm, only centimeters from actually touching it, “but he’s been with us for a good chunk of time now and was instrumental to rescuing Tannis. Just a really solid, loyal guy. Trust me.”

That gets another chuckle out of the commander. “Oh, I know a few things about appearances being deceptive. We’ve got a few ex-bandits in the Crimson Raiders, too.” She sighs quietly as she continues to stare at Tyreen, as if looking hard enough will allow her to read Tyreen’s mind. “I will tell you straight up that your reputation is in pretty good standing after all that, so I’m holding you to your word. Don’t make me regret letting you into my town.”

Tyreen swallows thickly. “I won’t, Commander.”

“You get to keep your guns and shields in Sanctuary, but you’re responsible for your crew. Anything goes south, you’re the one that answers to me. Got it?”

Tyreen nods. “Every word,” she says solemnly.

“I know I seem like a real hard-ass, but I’ve got too many people counting on me to let that slip. You guys got any questions?”

Troy holds up a finger. “Uh, I got one. When can we move in?”

Surprised, the commander bursts out laughing. “We might have some vacancies. It really depends on if you behave yourself while you’re visiting. Now that you have our F.T. code you’re free to come and go as you please, though.”

“See, Troy,” Tyreen whispers to him, “it pays to be _nice_ to people. Do it for mom, at least.”

“Shut up,” Troy mutters back, flicking his hair down over one eye.

“Are you guys talking about me?” Axton suddenly whispers from Troy’s side, grinning wildly.

Troy jumps a little. “Oh my God! Dude, have you been standing there this entire time?”

“Uh, yeah, I was just not talking, you know, out of respect for Commander Lilith. Soldier stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Then why are you talking _now_?” Troy hisses.

“Oh, shit, you’re right.” Axton glances over at the commander, who currently has her face in both hands. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Axton, we talked about this. It’s been like, five years. Stop calling me ‘ma’am’.”

“Sorry… _siiir_?” he tries instead.

“Okay, we’re done here. You’re dismissed, man.” She waves a hand wearily, shooing them away. “Actually, all of you are. I’ve got some work to catch up on, if you don’t mind.”

Axton doesn’t need to be told twice; he quickly herds them together and out the way they came in.

“Hey, Tyreen?” Commander Lilith calls after her.

Tyreen peers over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I know,” she says enigmatically. “Come talk to me about it after you get your bearings. Alone.”

Tyreen stares down at her gloved left hand as she goes.

“It’s probably fine,” says Axton blithely, noticing her expression. “If she were gonna rip your head off, she has no problem doing that in front of a crowd of people, and I’m speaking from deep, personal experience here.”

“No one is harming a hair on the God-Queen’s head so long as I’m alive,” growls Mouthpiece.

Axton looks up at him a long ways, utterly confused. “Who is he talking about?”

“No one! No one. Now is really not the time for that!” Tyreen insists with a rictus grin, blocking Mouthpiece with a wild wave of her arms.

Troy sighs and scowls at the ceiling, and really, it’s amazing how sour he manages to look all the time, but especially today. “I don’t think you’re helping as much as you think you’re helping, Axton.”

“No? Uh, let me try a different track, then.” Axton thinks about it for five seconds top. “Okay, got it. How about you guys come get a drink with me later? Put it on my tab and everything.”

Tyreen immediately brightens; who _doesn’t_ love free shit? “Seriously?” She smacks Troy excitedly. “I haven’t drunk alcohol in over a year. Maybe two years? The time I accidentally let acetone touch my mouth totally doesn’t count. Yeah, yes, that sounds great after the hellish week we’ve had.”

“I don’t know about that…” Troy says quietly, rubbing awkwardly at his spinal implant. Tyreen gives him another nudge, because he is _not_ killing her buzz now.

“Great! Glad to have ya aboard. Meet me at Moxxi’s when the sun goes down, all right? Can’t miss it. She’s got a big ol’—” Axton holds his hands in front of his chest and then thinks better of it. “—sign. With cute little lights and everything. You’re gonna love it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to advertise this, but I have a Twitter [yonder](https://twitter.com/Ogygia7) if you'd like to say hi and conspire with me to write more BL3 fics.


	5. 10 Things Only People Who Want Desperately To Be Classified Into A Group Of Some Kind Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different...

Tyreen is already _so_ drunk.

Troy, on the other hand? Very much not drunk, but wishing he _was_. He’s been sitting at the bar a few feet away watching his sister make a complete ass out of herself, powerless to stop her from furiously flirting with Mouthpiece for the past half hour or so. It’s a little like watching billionaires crash their star-yachts into each other for fun on the holocircuit: Gruesome to behold, but impossible to look away from.

“Awww, M.P., I love when you tell me bandit stories,” she slurs, practically in his lap as she blows past any sense of personal boundaries that, you know, normally keep other people alive around her. Troy is _not_ going to get in the middle of that one, though. “They’re always so… what’s the word?”

“Gory?” Mouthpiece supplies helpfully. He isn’t wearing his mask, as it gets in the way of the imbibing, but his eyes are almost sparkling with devotion. Troy already pretended to gag earlier, but no one really noticed.

She giggles. “Gory! Good word. I _love_ guts. And blood.”

“As do I, Tyreen.”

Tyreen gasps. “You said my name!”

Mouthpiece immediately humbles himself, fussing with his beer as he hangs his head in shame. “My apologies, God-Queen. It won't happen again.” 

“No, no,” Tyreen slowly puts her gloved hand over one of his. “I like it, I like it a lot.”

See what he has to deal with? 

Troy rolls his eyes and takes an obnoxiously loud sip out of the bright green concoction in front of him. He can’t remember what Moxxi called it, but it comes with a long, looping straw that spells out her name, and there’s a lot of fruit just kind of floating ominously in it. At least, Troy _thinks_ it’s fruit, but it’s not exactly easy to grow the stuff in the thin, dusty soil covering most of Pandora, so maybe not. He’s trying really, really hard to not to think about what else it could be. 

That’s about when someone comes up behind him and slaps him hard on his good shoulder. 

“Hey, Calypso!” Axton yells over the thumping bass line coming from the jukebox. “You made it!”

Completely caught off-guard, Troy spits out some maybe-fruit onto the counter. “Ugh, what the hell, Axton?”

“Oh, whoops, had a little accident?” Axton picks up the wet little morsel and promptly sticks it in his mouth, chewing forcefully enough that a streak of juice runs down his impressively square chin. “Man, I love these things.”

Troy stares, some part of his brain completely failing to understand what’s happening. “That was... literally just in my mouth.”

“Five second rule?” Axton suggests breezily with a shrug, then—with his bare fucking hands—picks some more fruit of questionable origin out of Troy’s drink. 

“_Not_ what that means, but whatever, okay.”

“Man, you have really got to lighten up. Was kinda hoping you’d be a fun drunk, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.”

Troy rolls his eyes and, okay, maybe Axton has a point, although it is a very tiny one. “I’m not fun _or_ drunk,” he admits, taking a sip through the Moxxi straw. “See that?” He points at the leftover green liquid zipping back down into the bowl. “Gives me no joy whatsoever.” 

Axton snorts. “You're a monster, Calypso.”

“You know you can just call me Troy, right? I get you’re like, soldier-boy out here and trying to sound cool or whatever but, no one calls me that.”

No one really calls Troy _anything_, but Axton doesn’t need to know that he’s a friendless loser forever trapped in his sister’s mile-long shadow. Or something. It sounds pretty bad even just thinking the words.

But Axton holds his gaze for a somewhat meaningful second there. “Okay, Troy,” he says, without a trace of sarcasm. “Better?”

Troy struggles to say something zingy but settles on a soft, “_Yeah_.” 

“Cool, cool, moving on.” Axton claps him on the back again. “I’m gonna play strip poker with my exes and need some moral support. You in?”

That is… quite a sentence. “You’re playing what with _whom_?” 

“My exes,” Axton repeats plainly, looking at Troy like _he’s_ the weird one. “They’re over there.” He points out a table where Salvador and a large woman are sitting. Salvador waves, and the woman winks and blows a kiss in their direction. Axton mimes catching it and sticking it in his breast pocket, which just makes her howl with laughter.

“Let me guess,” says Troy slowly, “you’re on a break with her, too? Is there anyone you _haven’t_ dated in Sanctuary?”

“Uh, duh, _you_ and…” Furrowing his brow as he concentrates, Axton counts on his fingers, seems to lose track, and then gives up with a shrug. “Maybe six other people? I’m missing someone, I’m sure.” 

“Holy shit, it was a rhetorical question, Axton!”

Axton just laughs. “I don’t even know what those words mean together. Come on, you’re avoiding the question, man. Are you in, or are you out?" 

The thing is, Troy doesn’t really know any of these people, he doesn’t even know how to play whatever the hell this game is, and he certainly doesn’t want to get caught in any state of undress in a public place. It’s just really stupid; it’s all kind of beneath him. And part of him desperately wants to belong anyway.

“Um.” Troy ducks his head a little, suddenly shy. “Yeah, I’ll play. I’ll probably need another drink, though. Liquid courage, right?" 

“Uno momento, my good man.” Axton waves at Moxxi from where she's dancing against a woman in one corner. “Hey, Mox! I’m gonna grab something from behind the bar!” He cartoonishly mimes sticking a credit through her tip jar.

“You’re lucky my baby girl is still sweet on you, or else I’d slap you for your trouble," Moxxi calls back, shaking her grey head. She’s got to be older than Troy’s own mother under all that clown greasepaint, but he’s never seen dear old mom dance like that. In fact, he’s never seen _anyone_ dance like that. It’s sort of… hypnotic, really, and jeez, that slit in her skirt doesn’t leave anything to the imagination, does it?

Axton snaps his fingers in Troy’s face. “Oh, you’re definitely not old enough to be Moxxi’s next husband. Anyway, lookee here. Gonna make you something special,” he explains, pulling down a clean glass and, after a cursory glance, snatching a few bottles from behind the bar. “In honor of your first night in Sanctuary, I present…” He’s pouring a _lot_ of alcohol into that glass. “...what the guys and gals at Dahl call a Full Metal Jacket. Or at least they did during my last tour before it was tragically cut short by an attempted firing squad.” 

With a crooked grin, he pushes the drink across the bar.

Troy gives it a cautious sniff, and it feels as if some of his nose hair just got singed off. “That’s, uh, pretty strong, I think.”

“Yeah! Supposed to be!” Instead of walking around, Axton takes a shortcut _over_ the counter with a surprising amount of agility, and someone whistles at him. “Just take a sip, all right? Don’t knock it before you even try it, man.”

Now he’s looking up at Troy pretty much exactly how an excited little skag pup would. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging furiously. Troy looks at the Full Metal Jacket, then back to Axton, then _back_ to the drink. 

_Fuck it_.

He doesn’t bother with a wimpy little sip that he knows someone would expect of him, he knocks the cup back, the _whole_ cup back, chugging half of it down in one go. The alcohol fights him every step of the way into his stomach, leaving him sputtering wetly and pounding the bar in pain with his metal fist. 

“Oh my God,” Troy wheezes, tears in his eyes. “I think I’m dying?”

“Heeey! Troy! That's the spirit!” Axton slaps him on the back, and it just makes everything hurt worse, but Axton looks pleased as hell _and_ impressed, which maybe makes Troy feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside. Or is that just the alcohol burning a hole in his gut? _Ow_. He’s gonna go with the latter.

“Didn’t know you had it in you. You’re my fucking guy! C’mon, c’mon,” he grabs the drink and tugs on Troy’s arm, getting him off the stool and moving toward the others, “let’s go wipe the floor with Salvador and Ellie.” 

“Um.” Troy wipes at his mouth with a wince. “What are the rules? Shit. You never explained the rules of the game. I’ve never played before.” 

“It’s damn easy once you get the hang of it, string bean,” says Ellie as they approach. She shuffles a large deck, and Troy notices that the backs of most of the cards don’t even match as she starts to place two cards in front of each of them, so counting them is definitely out of the question. “Poker’s a battle o’ wits, amigo, kinda like a sexier chess, only Earl kept eating all those dang pieces, so now we just got whatever cards he ain’t snacked on like potato chips. Funner that way, to be honest. Even funner without clothes on, though. A-wink.”

She actually does wink, and Troy feels himself blush under the heat of the alcohol in his bloodstream. 

“Yeah, no bets at our table, except for your dignity maybe,” adds Salvador with a crooked grin, scooping his deck up.

If Troy blushes any harder he might genuinely pass out.

“So, the idea here is each of us got two cards dealt face down,” continues Ellie, pointing at the cards in question. “What you’re gonna wanna do is take a little peek at the hand I just gave you and size ‘em up. Sounds simple enough so far, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I follow,” says Troy, absent-mindedly sipping at his drink, which is starting to burn less and less. He picks his cards up, and finds himself with a three and a five, both spades.

“Hey, that’s a pretty good start,” whispers Axton, leaning over to peek.

Salvador thumps the table with both palms. “Hey! No cheating!” 

“Well, he’s never played before! I’m just here to give him some tips until he learns, all right.” Axton looks up at Troy and winks, which makes him feel better about the situation, somehow. “Promise I’ll let you win a few, all right?”

“Yeah, it’s all right Sal, not trying to scare the fresh meat off or nothin’. Why don’t you explain _why_ string bean’s got a good starting hand for him, Ax?”

Axton rubs his hands together. “The thing is, no matter what type of poker you play, the hands are always the same, right? So, you just gotta memorize a few winning combinations to shoot for. Like, say, the highest-ranking hand you can have is a royal flush. That’s a ten, jack, queen, king, and ace, but they all gotta match, all clubs or diamonds or whatever.” He taps Troy on the wrist. “With a three and a five, you could potentially build a straight flush, or, uh, five consecutive cards, ‘cause the suit matches.”

“Right, but where do the other cards come from then?” asks Troy, somewhat confused.

“From here,” Ellie taps the deck with a smile. “I’ll put some cards into play each round, and you’ll use those to create your best hand of five, got it? That’s seven cards total, the two you got in your mitts now, sweetpea, and the five shared ones on the table.”

“There’s just, uh, one last thing,” Troy points out, his voice growing a little quieter and hoarser, almost lost in the pulsing beat of the music playing around them. He clears his throat delicately, not quite able to look anyone in the eye now. “How do I know when I lose and, I guess, have to… strip?”

The whole table roars with laughter. “Everyone but the winner of each round loses an article of clothing. First person to be buck-ass naked is the grand loser, and then the game ends. Gotta be real clothes, too, string bean,” says Ellie, gesturing to the goggles around Troy’s neck, “just so we’re all playing fair and square, you understand.”

Clutching at his goggles like a life preserve, Troy nods. So, all he has to do is hope he doesn’t lose harder than anyone else at the table, and he’ll be safe for the night. Sounds easy enough. “Got it.”

“All right, let’s get this show on the road then, lady and gentlemen!” announces Axton with a rakish grin, doing a drum roll on the table top as Ellie quickly puts the community cards into play.

Despite Troy’s supposedly decent starting hand, it’s Salvador that easily takes the first round. 

“Suck on that, Axton!” he crows, right before sticking the worn, likely downright _filthy_ cards in his mouth and shaking his head like a wild spiderant going in for the kill. Troy can’t help but giggle into his cup, even if it is sort of at Axton’s expense.

“Hey, we’re all your enemies now, don’t… pick favorites,” Axton tells him with a frown. He props his foot up on the seat beside him and starts to undo the laces of his combat boots.

“I can have an enemy hierarchy,” Salvador points out. “You just happen to be at the top, while Ellie’s on the bottom.”

Ellie beams. “Aw, thanks, sweetpea. I think.”

“Still gotta lose the gear,” he reminds her with a triumphant grin.

Ellie’s smile turns a little sour as she reaches under the table to slip off her shoes as well. That’s as good a start as any other, then, so Troy takes the pointer and dumps his boots on the floor, wiggling his socks against the slightly sticky concrete and feeling weirdly at peace with it. As it turns out, the world is a lot more enjoyable when you a) don’t sweat the small stuff, and b) have a bunch of booze sloshing around in your guts. 

The next few rounds go by just as quickly, and Troy loses his socks, his vest, and his pants in the process, enough to form a small mountain of clothes. The rational part of his brain tells him he needs to be playing a lot smarter than he currently is, because right now he’s sitting in the middle of a bar in his boxers, but somewhere along the way someone gets him a couple beers, and it’s getting harder to think and harder to care. No one else is taking losing very badly at all, so why should he? It’s all a bit funny, when he thinks about it, and the rush of actually playing is kind of exhilarating, too.

This round, Troy ends up with three queens and an ace, somehow. He squints at them through the pleasant fog now taking up residence in his skull, swaying a little in his seat as he tries to recall some of the other high value hands Axton told him earlier. Shrugging, he reaches out to grab a card at random from the flop.

“Hey, hey,” whispers Axton, right on time. He grabs Troy’s thigh under the table, which is a shock to his system, and suddenly Troy is very alert and very focused on the shape of that hot hand pressed against his bare skin. “Don’t grab that one. Grab the other ace.”

Troy looks between him and his hand, going a little cross-eyed in the process. “Yeah? What’s that do?”

Grinning ear to ear, Axton leans in conspiratorially, “Full house, baby.” 

A grin slowly spreads across Troy’s face, too, and he reaches out to pat Axton on top of his head, his hair surprisingly softer than Troy expected. “Thaaank you,” he says cheerfully. “Think I got this one in the bag now.”

“Dude, you totally do. My hand sucks right now.” His real hand, however, is _still_ on Troy’s thigh, and maybe he just forgot? Maybe Troy needs to remind him? But then he’d _stop_, and Troy doesn’t remember the last time anyone that wasn’t his sister touched him without trying to hurt him in the same breath. He doesn’t utter a peep about it.

“What are you two rakks chittering about over there?” Ellie asks, smiling slyly over her cards. She gives him this knowing stare, only Troy doesn’t actually know what she knows. “You gonna play your hand or what, string bean?”

“Uh, yeah, I sure as hell am,” Troy tells her. Smiling toothily, he spreads his cards out, face up. “Let’s try this one on for size.”

“Oh, hell, I’m mega-fucked,” says Salvador, shaking his head as he drops his cards to the table top. He’s already shirtless, which leaves… “Completely forgot I don’t even own underwear. No one behind me look at my ass unless you wanna get blinded, all right?”

He steps out of his pants and then hangs them on his chair like a sad flag.

Ellie hoots and hollers with laughter, slapping her bare thigh under the table. “Sal, why in the hell you takin’ your pants off when you still got socks on?”

Salvador shrugs. “Didn’t wanna get cold, man.”

“Yeah, well, say good-bye to your socks next hand, ‘cause Troy Calypso—” Dripping with smugness, Troy points his thumbs at himself. “—just figured out how to play this damn game. The tide is turning now.”

“I liked him better when he was a loser,” Salvador says with a chuckle and hauls himself back into his chair.

Unless Salvador takes this next round, that means it’s game over for him. Troy realizes now how close he’s come to losing his _own_ underwear, and he sits a little taller in his chair, smacks his face (with his good hand, of course), and tries to not let his focus wander anymore. Axton, for all his help, is proving to be something of a distraction after the whole thigh-touching incident, and Troy doesn’t know when his chair got so close, but whenever his leg bounces under the table it brushes against Troy’s knee and makes his heart turn over in his chest.

Then Ellie deals their cards out, and in a flash, they’re in Troy’s hand being carefully pored over. King and a queen of hearts this time. He has a pretty good feeling about it, remembering he can use them to play the highest value hand in the game. 

“A little tip for next time, string bean?” Ellie laughs softly. “You gotta get better at hiding your tells.”

_Oh_. Troy realizes he’s grinning stupidly to himself, and quickly wipes the smile off his face. “Right… sorry?”

Ellie laughs again, but he notices it’s never really _at_ him, or, at least it doesn’t feel that way. She really is just the sweetest, nicest person Troy’s met so far. “No need to apologize for that, hun. See, you’re already learning; you’ll be better prepared for next time.”

“Next time?” Troy echoes.

Ellie winks. “Always is one when I’m involved.”

Some more cards are played, and Troy realizes with a sinking feeling he’s not close to getting what he needs for a royal flush at all. He does, however, have the right number of cards for a three of a kind, which is better than a nothing hand or whatever it’s called. Shrugging, he places his cards face up and prepares for defeat.

Everyone looks at each other’s hands silently for a moment.

“Troy,” Axton nudges him under the table. “Think you won again, bud.”

“What, really?” Troy checks their hands again, finding a one pair, a two pair, and a nothing, all of which his own hand beats. Not by much, of course, but still. “No way...”

“Yes way! Dude, I knew you had this!” With a pleased grin and bright eyes, Axton stands up and wraps his arm around Troy, jostling him. The warmth of his skin bleeds into Troy, making him chuckle stupidly to himself, at a complete loss for how to react. “You were like, ‘oh no, I’m so sad and bad at this’, and I was like, ‘you’re doing better than you know, man, you just gotta believe in yourself’, and then you _did!_ And Salvador totally has to take off his stupid little socks!”

Shaking his head, Salvador peels a damp, holey sock off and flings it right into Axton’s face. “There’s your stupid sock, cabrón.”

Axton screeches in disgust and flicks the sock onto the table. “Holy hell, that is so nasty, I’ve come across dead skags that smelled better than your feet, bro.”

Glowing from his wins, and ducking out lest he get attacked by anyone’s smelly socks, Troy helps clear the table for Moxxi, bringing the empty bottles and glasses behind the counter to be cleaned and reused.

“Troy!” Tyreen stumbles over, looking him up and down in complete shock. “Where are your clothes?”

Troy looks down, where he’s still in his boxers and _nothing else_. Blushing horribly, he glances back at the table where his clothes are piled up on the floor beside his chair. “Oh, I, uh, lost them in a game… I should go get those back, huh?”

Tyreen rolls her eyes and gently taps him with her knuckles. “Yeah, mano, what if you like, catch a cold or something? You know it’s dangerous to be naked on Pandora. What are you, turning into a bandit or something?”

He hurries back and immediately gets dressed.

Axton, standing proudly in just his boxers and now his combat boots, has the rest of his clothes stuffed under one arm and a beer in the other hand. He takes a swig as he approaches. “You guys staying the night?” 

Troy nods carefully. “We don’t really have anywhere else to go at the moment. Where we came from…” He shudders as he remembers Achlysian Refinery and the horrors within it. “Not exactly somewhere we can go back to, you know?”

“Well, you and your fam—and uh, I guess the big guy, too—are welcome to crash at my place whenever. C’mon, I’ll show you where I’m posted up.”

He turns on his heel and heads out Moxxi’s bar without another word, leaving Troy scrambling to catch up when he realizes that, yes, Axton _did_ just invite him back to his house.

Without very many windows in the plant, it’s hard to tell how late it actually is in the evening unless he checks his ECHO, but he imagines the answer is “late enough” what with hardly anyone up and walking the corridors. The jukebox music echoes behind them, getting farther and farther away.

“I like your ink,” Axton says after a moment, nodding his head approvingly.

“My… what?” Confused, Troy looks down at his shirt.

Axton just laughs breezily. “Your tattoos, man. Red’s pretty bold, gotta say. You’re full of surprises.”

“Oh.” Troy lifts his arm, pushing his sleeve back up and flexing his fingers a little, watching as the red stripes catch the overhead lights. “They’re not tattoos, not really. I was born like this.”

“Huh.” Axton reaches out and takes Troy by the hand, gently running his fingers over the markings, making Troy shiver. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they kind of remind me of a Siren. The bands don’t really look like Maya’s or the commander’s though, and the color’s wrong, obviously.”

Troy feels a cold lump form in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, I’m not a Siren. Obviously. No powers, no… nothing, really.” Except leeching from his sister, that is, and as much as Troy wants Axton to feel for him, he has enough sense in his head to know this isn’t the right way to do it at all.

Axton is still holding his hand, though, which is getting sweatier by the second. “Eh, not a big deal. You seen one, you seen ‘em all, you know what I mean? And I’ve seen like, _three_. Plus, you’re really smart, which is kind of like it’s own super power.”

Troy can’t help but smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! I’ve noticed the way you look at things, how fast you pick up on stuff. I’m sure you can do other useful shit, too. Me on the other hand? I’m just here to look handsome, kill stuff good, and run a five minute mile.”

“I built this,” Troy lifts his mechanical arm, eager to show off now, the parts moving with a soft, pneumatic hiss. “My first prototype was when I was… hm, about sixteen?”

Axton laughs and bumps his shoulder against Troy. “See, I’m telling you, dude, braniac equals super power.”

He leads Troy into a large room full of dusty equipment, some of their lights still on in a low-powered state and gently blinking. Half the room has been repurposed into a sort of kitchenette, and the rest is filled with dented lockers, a work bench full of metal scraps, and rusty bunk beds. Compared to the rest of Troy’s summer on the road, it looks downright cozy.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” says Axton, scooping up some dirty clothes off the floor and tossing them onto the nearest mattress.

“It’s fine,” Troy assures him, because it really is. “I’ve been sleeping in the back of a technical for weeks now.”

“Well, we got real beds, with real pillows, so take your pick.”

Troy studies the beds for the moment. None of them have sheets, so it’s pretty easy to tell where they’ve been patched up or stained over time. He picks out the cleanest, one of the bottom bunks, and crawls in, his bones already melting from how good it feels under him.

He may or may have not let out a pleased groan.

Axton chuckles softly behind him. “That’s the one _I_ usually take, actually.”

Oh, shit. Great job, Troy, stealing another man’s bed already. “I didn’t know… I can grab another.”

Axton grabs a frayed blanket off the top bunk and tosses it on Troy. “Nah, man, it’s cool. Get comfy. You earned it.”

Troy pulls the blanket all the way up to and over his nose, effectively becoming just a pair of pale blue eyes watching Axton as he moves around the suite getting ready for bed. Is it weird if he smells the blanket? Is it weirder if he kind of _likes_ the way it smells, a bit like clean sweat and old soap, both a rarity on Pandora. Axton doesn’t seem to notice, so it’s kind of like his little secret.

He blinks, and the lights are suddenly off. It hits him then how tired he really is, because it gets harder to open his eyes every time he blinks, the room completely black save for those winking green lights. A sweet warmth finally pulls him down into the mattress, and he falls deeply into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing Troy and giving him some room to shine, so I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!


	6. The First Time I Drank Gatorade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I got incredibly busy these past couple weeks, but hopefully I can get back into the swing of things. I'm going to be uploading two short chapters tonight. Thanks for waiting, y'all.

Tyreen is going to destroy whoever glued her eyelids shut. And kicked sand into her mouth. And _also_ sat on her head with their giant ass. In fact, she’s going to get right on that the second she can actually move any of her damn limbs. After a minute of silently cussing out her imaginary enemy, she gets one crusty eye cracked open and finds herself in a small room she’s never seen before, in a bed she’s _definitely_ never seen before, though on second pass it’s more of a scratchy cot pitched in the corner between a bunch of crates. Still, better than the cold hard floor, where Mouthpiece is currently curled up beside her.

Snoring gently, Mouthpiece has his mask tucked under his head like an extremely uncomfortable-looking pillow. It’s… kind of cute? Cuter than he has any right being when he’s over seven feet tall and probably weighs five times as much as she does. Cute enough that she really kind of wants to get down there to hug him for a bit, but that would be, uh, pretty weird, and definitely dangerous.

Instead she scoots to the edge of the cot, careful to not tip it over, and studies his scarred face. He’s not going to win any beauty contests like _ever_, but still, there’s something about it she likes more than she’d care to admit, something sturdy and dependable baked into his features themselves. Not that she’d ever tell him that, because that sounds stupid as hell, and then she’d have to admit she’s been watching him while he sleeps.

“Mouthpiece?” she whispers at last, and then winces because even that quiet attempt at talking makes her dry-ass throat feel like she just swallowed glass. 

He doesn’t stir, though, which is fine. The fact that he’s alive and whole is a very good one when she can barely remember how her blurry, booze-filled night went—

_Booze._

Holy shit, that’s right. She was wasted at Moxxi’s bar last night, and now every detail is slamming into the forefront of her brain with perfect clarity. _Oh._ Oh _no._ She was most certainly all over Mouthpiece, or at the very least hovering super intensely, and this all happened in front of everyone else, who she was _hoping_ to make a good impression with on her first night in Sanctuary, but now that’s already swirled down the toilet. Worst of all, though, is the fact that she distinctly remembers Troy being present for most of that disaster.

Tyreen sticks her face in her pillow and screams weakly. Troy is never gonna let her live this down. _Ever._ The only vaguely damning thing she can think of to blackmail him back with is that maybe he was in his boxers, for some reason?

“No, I’ve gotta run away,” she decides out loud, her voice barely above a painful and hoarse squeak, and then swings her legs over the edge of the cot. Every muscle in her body screams in protest, and she very nearly trips over Mouthpiece's prone form, but she manages to stumbles to the open doorway without breaking anything. “Change my name, shave my hair off, maybe leave Mom and Troy a note before I go… Oh fuck, _mamá!_” She puts a hand to her damp forehead. “I am so sorry for totally bringing shame to our entire family…”

“Rough night, sugar?” 

Tyreen nearly jumps out of her skin.

Sitting pretty at one of the scrubbed wooden tables is Miss Moxxi herself in a silky teal robe. She crosses her legs slowly, with sultry purpose, takes a delicate sip from her mug, and then winks, all as naturally as another woman might just take a simple breath.

It takes Tyreen a minute to remember how to form thoughts again. She’s pretty sure her jaw is on the floor. “You’re not wearing any makeup,” she says stupidly, but it’s true, Moxxi’s face is a soft shade of pink, not a streak of paint on her skin. She looks older without it—there are deep lines around her plump lips and the corners of her eyes in particular—but still impossibly beautiful.

Moxxi shrugs. “And no one’s supposed to be in my bar after closing, yet here you are with your boytoy. Our little secret, right?”

Tyreen feels her face go from zero to flaming hot in an instant, and all the blood rushing to her head just makes it throb more. “Psh, he’s not— Mouthpiece? Pft! No way, he’s just my, uh…" She glances around frantically, as if anything in the bar could possibly save her now, but there’s no real recourse from embarrassing your ass all night in public. “Oh man, yeah, he’s just this... dude, you know? A dude friend.”

Moxxi giggles softly, which kind of makes looking like an idiot feel so much better somehow. “A dude friend,” she repeats, looking deeply amused. “Yeah, I know how _that_ goes. Why don’t you pull up a seat and make my day?”

Every step of the way hurts, but Tyreen still makes a beeline for the chair beside Moxxi’s, sliding in and folding her hands neatly over the blissfully cool table. “Oh, trust me, I’d love to, but I don’t think I’ve got anything spicy to reveal at all, and you’re _the_ Mad Moxxi so you’ve seen like, everything there is to see anyway, right?”

She’s kind of the closest thing Pandora has to a celebrity, really, which makes being caught hungover like this all the more embarrassing.

Moxxi smiles gently, though, and Tyreen feels her heart start to race. “Aw, don’t you worry your little head about that, hun. You don’t look so hot under the collar, and I get the feeling you're not the type to kiss and tell.” 

Tyreen clears her throat awkwardly. “The thing is, I’m not one to kiss _at all_.” Embarrassment washes over her. “As in, I’m twenty-four and I’ve never really kissed anyone in any way that counts. So whatever you think happened between me and M.P., uh, definitely didn’t happen. Sorry to disappoint?"

Moxxi takes another sip from her mug. It’s a strong, vaguely familiar scent, like something gently roasted. Coffee, maybe synthetic? “No judgment here. There are always a few late bloomers in every garden. It’s not so much _when_ they open as much as _how_ they open. Let’s hope yours is with a big,” she pops her lips, then slides her drink on over, “_bang_.”

“Ha, oh man, banging. I completely forgot that I’m going to die a virgin. Wow.” Tyreen, grateful for something to quench her thirst _and_ distract her from the rising dread, quickly sucks down as much coffee as she can without burning herself. The liquid warmth coursing through her body almost immediately makes her feel human again.

“I appreciate the pep talk,” she continues, setting the mug down carefully. “But me and other people… we don’t exactly mix. I kind of have this problem, ya see, where I hurt anyone that gets too close to me. Like, literally!” She pushes her sleeve up a little, revealing a streak of blue, knowing that Moxxi will likely know what that means, what with Commander Lilith around.

Moxxi looks down at the marking for a quiet moment and nods to herself. “I figured as much, considering how fast Lilith let you into town, amongst other things. I’m not really one to pry but the whole…” She eyes her up and down for emphasis, lingering on Tyreen’s gloves in particular. “...covering yourself up from head to toe schtick? It’s not exactly an inspired look. You’re afraid of anyone getting too close—a lot of people are out here—but you’re forgetting just _talking_ is half the fun.”

“Talking,” Tyreen repeats uncertainly, sitting up a little straighter. “Wait, like, sexy talking?”

Moxxi laughs. “That’s one way to put it. I take it you’re a little lacking in the department.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s rough in the love department when you can accidentally kill someone while making out.” Tyreen pauses, her eyes going wide the second she lets that slip. “Not… that that ever happened, because that would be horrible! And deeply traumatizing!”

But, to her surprise, Moxxi makes a sympathetic noise. “Yeah, it sure can be like that sometimes. Who hasn’t killed a few partners, you know?”

Tyreen nods slowly. “Yeah… okay, so maybe you do kinda get it. But even if I was completely normal…” She peers over her shoulder, back at the storage room she and Mouthpiece crashed in. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t see it happening.”

“Why not? Anyone could see the big guy looks at you like you hung the moon _and_ the stars.” 

Tyreen turns a bit red at that. Is that what it really looks like to everyone else? “It’s not that simple. He… maybe thinks I’m someone I’m not. Maybe someone I can never really be.”

Like, say, a fledgling goddess. Yeesh, she’s really regretting all that God-Queen shit now.

“And some people think I'm nothing more than just a pretty face.” Moxxi shrugs. “But the ones that you can let take a peek under the hood are usually worth keeping.”

“That’s a little terrifying, though, isn’t it?” Tyreen’s stomach is turning at the mere thought of facing the truth dead-on. “I’m not so sure I can do it…”

She doesn’t even know if Mouthpiece would believe her, and she’s more than a little worried about what would happen if he _did_. She was really just getting to know and like him, more than she’s liked anyone in a very long time, and the idea of throwing it all away because she’s a colossal dumbass just _hurts_ in a strangely familiar way. Wouldn’t it be just like her to spoil anything good that happens, all because she’s a stupid Siren?

Moxxi chuckles, not unkindly. “Sugar, if people were that easy to figure out, I wouldn’t have remarried so many times. You either want to let them in, maybe latch onto something real while you can, or you don’t. But only you can make that call.”

“Well, that’s annoyingly realistic,” Tyreen admits, scratching the back of her head, “but I appreciate your insight.”

“I know, hun, but that’s just how these things go. And hey, listen…” Moxxi sets her hand down on the table right beside Tyreen’s, close but not touching, and it makes something flutter happily in her chest. “If you two lovejabbers ever get things squared away, come and find me, all right? I've got a room set up just for occasions like this.” 

Tyreen wiggles her fingers on the table, a faint smile creeping across her face. "Yeah, for all that sexy talking I’m about to do.”

Moxxi smiles. “Exactly. Now, why don’t you take some of the sights in, get your head on straight? I’ll let the not-boytoy know you need some alone time.” She winks at that last part, which just makes Tyreen’s face heat right up again. All that innuendo is really going to kill her one of these days.

“I’m just going to go look at some shops or something, you know that, right?”

Moxxi innocently sips the last of her coffee. “Sure you are, sugar.”

“I’m serious!”

“Uh-huh.”

Tyreen can’t help but laugh, her head and heart already feeling much lighter. “Thank you, though, for everything. You’ve been a big..." She decides to try something out, giving Moxxi an exaggerated wink. “...help.”

But Moxxi shakes her head sternly. “Get out of here before you hurt yourself.”

“Right, sorry, I’ll see you later,” and with that, Tyreen scurries out of the bar, gently shutting the doors behind her.


	7. This Couple Has Had Their Consciousness Uploaded Into The Same Smart Fridge

There are better things in the world than alcohol, Dad used to say, but alcohol always compensated for not getting them. It isn’t until Tyreen is away from the glitz and glam of Moxxi’s that she realizes why a little rakk ale is so needed in the first place: Sanctuary has been going head to head with the Rustrazor clan for weeks now, and it’s really starting to take a toll on some of the Crimson Raiders. Danger is in the air, and everyone she comes across is in some way ramping up for the next clash, because it’s a matter of _when_ and not _if_ bandits come knocking on their door. Weapons are being stockpiled, ammo distributed, the town shield generators and borders under careful watch, and anything _not_ booze has already been pretty strictly rationed.

She takes a minute to buy herself and Troy some better personal shields out of a vending machine, figuring she’ll hand the goods off whenever she sees him next. Last she heard her brother was still hanging out with the commando, which is a little surprising given Troy’s attitude when they first met, but, hey, maybe he’s making a new friend and won’t be so needy for her attention all the time, right?

...she _really_ hopes he’s making new friends.

All the commotion around Sanctuary makes her a little worried for Tannis, though, who only just escaped the Rustrazor bandits days ago. The commander did ask her to check on Tannis when she had a minute, so Tyreen asks around for where the doctor’s lab is, and mostly gets a lot of weird looks as if she just got moonshot down from Elpis. Tannis is, unsurprisingly, not exactly everyone’s cup of tea, so some people have no idea where she holes up when she’s not with Commander Lilith, while others just can’t understand _why_ Tyreen’s in such a hurry to meet up with her again. 

“Sure, she’s a little blunt, but she means well. Most of the time,” she adds awkwardly, trying to speed run this conversation with a guard posted at the front gate.

The guard looks unimpressed. “She said I looked like my parents didn’t graduate high school.”

“To be fair, we don’t have high schools on Pandora,” Tyreen reminds her with a wag of her finger.

“I’m from Eden-5, kid.”

Tyreen smiles brightly through the embarrassment. “Of course you are! Now, where did you say this lab was?”

The newest lead takes her up a long, winding staircase to what looks like some sort of observation deck. This high up Tyreen can see the iridescent shimmer of the shield bubbling Sanctuary and feel a gentle, warm breeze tousling her hair. She knows it’s a false sense of calmness, like being caught in the eye of a churning storm, and when she looks out at the horizon for a brief moment, she wonders if the dust clouds there are from the winds or being kicked up by an army of vehicles.

Tyreen can only find a single metal door outside the building, and, although it doesn’t have any sort of handle, there _is_ an entry buzzer on its right and a keypad below that. Curious, she presses the buzzer, but doesn’t get a peep out of it. Great, it must be disconnected. _Thanks, Tannis._ She frowns at the keypad for a minute instead, noticing the code it accepts is five digits long, but only three of the keys are lightly worn and shiny with use.

“Okay, so, if I just do some basic math I’ve got…” Tyreen lets out a long breath as she counts on her fingers, already confused. Troy could probably figure it out this way, but Troy’s not here right now. “Uh, let’s try a different tack. What’s Tannis into? Eridians, um, Vaults, and— hey! Vault.” 

Worth a shot. 

She quickly punches in the right letters, using the exact same worn keys. To her surprise, the light on the door turns green and then the whole thing slides open with a pneumatic hiss. 

“Fuckin’ nailed it,” Tyreen whispers excitedly, pumping her fist in the air. 

She steps inside, and the door _whooshes_ closed behind her, plunging her into a darkness only punctuated by the glow of monitors and blinking equipment lights. She goes up to one of the screens now, trying to make sense of the fluctuating readings and graphs, but as far as she can tell they don’t seem to have much to do with Eridian technology at all. 

“You’re back early,” says a soft voice. The lights suddenly click on, growing brighter and brighter until the entire lab is perfectly illuminated. 

Tyreen looks around wildly, accidentally backing into a stack of beige machines that jabs the hell out of her spine. “Ow! Motherfuck—”

“Oh. You are _not_ Dr. Tannis.”

“Where are you?” asks Tyreen, wincing as she rubs at her back. Now she can make out tables covered in real books and paper notes and maps, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else in the room. She stupidly peers under a desk and, nope, still no one.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you, I think.” Weirdly enough, the voice seems to be coming from everywhere, making the equipment near Tyreen crackle softly with each word.

“I’m a friend of the Crimson Raiders; Tannis especially,” Tyreen points out, squinting up at the ceiling, just in case. “I came by to check on her after we rescued her from a bunch of asshole bandits, see how she’s holding up. No one mentioned anything about… you, though, whoever you are.”

“No one else really comes up here, besides the doctor,” explains the voice, suddenly shy. “I’m sort of a secret... for now.”

“Okay…” Tyreen pulls up a chair and decides to talk at the nearest flickering monitor. “How come?”

“I asked Tannis not to tell anyone about me. You see, I used to be a friend of the Crimson Raiders, too, in my… original programming. Things went very badly for the both of us, and my program was terminated. As far as anyone is concerned, I died many years ago.”

“But you’re still here? I mean, how did you…” Tyreen swirls a hand in the air, searching for words. “...come back or whatever?”

“Oh, that. Well, I used to be something like a supercomputer. My… mainframe was vast and powerful. There were little bits of my data left wherever I went, like fingerprints, and there were very few places in my network that went untouched. Tannis ended up unlocking an old prototype of mine a while back, and I’ve been slowly piecing myself together ever since.”

“That is... _so_ cool!” 

“Really?” The voice seems surprised.

“Yeah, of course.” Tyreen grins into the room. “I’m talking to like, a super advanced A.I., not some dumbass machine on the ECHOnet. Oh, oh, you didn’t tell me your name. What do I call you?”

“Um, well, technically, I’m 4N631,” says the voice shyly. “But you can call me… Angel.”

“Angel. That’s a pretty name. I like it. I’m Tyreen, by the way.”

“Thank you, Tyreen.” There’s a brief pause. “You won’t tell anyone about me, right?”

Tyreen waves a hand dismissively. “Psh, nah, your secret’s safe with me, girl.”

Angel seems to breathe a digital sigh of relief. “Thank you, again. I want to tell everyone, I do, I just haven’t found the right time to do it. Tannis isn’t keeping me here against my will or anything like that either, in case you were wondering.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type, no.”

“Some people are,” says Angel, a little sadly. “I never had the chance to really explore the world on my own terms. I was the property of Hyperion for a very long time.”

An idea occurs to Tyreen just then. “What’s stopping you from doing that now? Just leaving and seeing the world? I mean, you don’t have to _tell_ anyone you’re back, but you don’t have to keep yourself in a cage either. Trust me, I know what that’s like, and I’d do anything to stay free.”

“Well, I… I don’t really know. I suppose I’d need some new eyes and ears?”

Tyreen snaps her fingers. “My brother! He’s always working on these little drone things, it’d be perfect for you.”

“And your brother… is in Sanctuary, too?”

Tyreen nods. “I can grab him and bring him by later, if you’d like.”

Angel falls silent for a long time. “I might need some time to think this over…”

Tyreen rolls her eyes. “Come on, Angel, you can’t fool me. You’ve been waiting your whole life for a moment like this, I can tell. You’re telling me if you had the choice to be out there—” She jabs a finger at the covered up windows. “—Outside! Taking everything in, no rules, no one telling you what to do, no one trying to _control_ you, or staying cooped up here in the dark with only one person to talk to, you’d choose… this? It’s a no-brainer.”

A soft little laugh bubbles out of Angel. “You’re right. I’m just afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long… it’s hard to see a way out. But I do want it; I do want to get out.”

“I’m telling ya, me and my brother, we’ll get you set up, and you can roll with us while we travel. Get a real taste of adventure,” Tyreen adds with a crooked smile.

Just then the entrance slides open, revealing Tannis with a cardboard box in her arms. “This should be enough victuals to keep me going for the next few weeks. You know I abhor going to the dining hall… Tyreen!” She almost drops the box in surprise. “How did you— and Angel, oh, I hadn’t meant for anyone to discover you so soon!”

A bright blue face appears on one of the screens. “It’s all right, Tannis, we can trust Tyreen. It’s good for me to meet some new people.”

“I suppose you’re right, though experience tells me the more people added to an equation only yields more problems.” Tannis sighs, setting her box down and brushing some grey hair from her damp forehead. “So, now you know about… Angel.”

Tyreen gets up to inspect the blue face, waving at it and getting a quiet giggle out of Angel. “Yep, we were just talking about busting her out of here.”

“Busting her out… of _here_?” Tannis squeezes her hands together nervously. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“To be perfectly honest? I’m not sure what I’m ready for,” Angel tells her. “But I won’t know if I don’t try.”

Tannis sighs and slumps down in a nearby chair. “Yes, right again, of course. I should have known better than to try to limit your reach. You are, after all, still so young, and I’m no Handsome Jack.”

Tyreen looks back at her sharply. “What’s Jack got to do with this?”

Tannis glances at the screen nervously. “Well, he’s her—”

“He created me,” Angel interrupts, her bright eyes flashing. “I worked directly under him for quite some time, so you can imagine I have a lot to answer for.”

Tyreen frowns softly. “Yeah, but you’re just an A.I., it’s not like you could say _no_.”

Angel nods, though she looks a little miserable at the thought. “Unfortunately, not everyone will see it that way.”

“Well, screw ‘em then. You can’t be held totally responsible for what some monstrous jackass made you do all your digital life or whatever,” Tyreen points out hotly. “At the very least, I won’t judge you for it.”

“Thank you for that,” says Angel quietly.

“This is why we have to get her out of here,” Tyreen continues, staring at Tannis now. “I can totally feel there’s too much history here. Girl needs a breather, a vacay, you know what I’m saying? She can deal with the repercussions _later_.”

“And I will!” Angel promises. “I’d just like some time to think things over.”

Tannis nods solemnly. “Of course. How can we help?”

Tyreen picks up a pen and turns over a sheet of paper. “Yeah, just tell us what you’re thinking for your new home, and I’ll get my brother right on it.”

“Well,” Angel clears her throat delicately. “I have always wanted an array of model 540002 lenses, with a telephoto zoom…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would ya just look at that? I finally broke 20k on here, making this probably the longest fic I've ever written.


End file.
